


Eyes Open

by Kirihana



Series: Safe and Sound [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirihana/pseuds/Kirihana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2249, ninety-eight years after the Humans of what was once North America attempted to rebel against the Romulan-Vulcan government. Every year since then, twenty-four Human children, a boy and a girl from each of twelve districts, has been sent into an arena to fight each other and remind all of Earth what happens to those who stand against the Empire and their colony’s Capitol. This year, for the first time, the children of two former victors have been drawn as tributes. District Four’s Spock Grayson is the son of scandalously never-married Amanda Grayson and the talk of the Capitol, but no one should count District Ten’s Jim Kirk – not only the son of former victor and district hero George Kirk, but also the brother of the 94th Games’ second- place tribute – out until the last cannon is fired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Open

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Star Trek Big Bang](http://startrekbigbang.livejournal.com).
> 
> None of this would have been possible without my betas: [supersaiyanswagga](http://supersaiyanswagga.tumblr.com), who has been putting up with me for years, and [thesecretmichan](http://thesecretmichan.tumblr.com), who continually blames me for her Spock Prime feels (and insisted that she hated me after the first time she read this fic). 
> 
> I'd also like to thank my absolutely lovely artists and fanmixer, who put up with my failings and procrastination. You can find links to their work [here](http://unseensorrows.livejournal.com/37320.html) (link goes to [unseensorrow's](http://unseensorrows.livejournal.com) masterpost; most images are currently embedded in the story) and [here](http://delugedpapercup.livejournal.com/2695.html) ([delugedpapercup's](http://delugedpapercup.livejournal.com) fanmix is wonderful and you should all go listen to it).
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 Jim woke up to the same sounds on the dawning of the reaping day that he woke up to every morning: roosters crowing, cattle lowing, all the animal sounds he’d grown up hearing all the fucking time.  That was life in District Ten, as far as Jim was concerned.  He was only awake for a few minutes before there was a knock on his door, and then footsteps away from it.  Jim knew it was Frank, his stepfather, because his mother didn’t get up and going so easily on reaping days.  Not for the last few years, not since Sam… But there would be time to think about that later, after the reaping was over and they were all going about their own business again, mentally preparing to watch two more kids from their district go through the Hunger Games.  For now Frank was probably going to start breakfast.  It would be the usual mush from the grain Jim got for putting his name on a few more reaping slips, but that was okay.  Winona had tried to stop Jim from doing that, the first time.  He did it anyway, and Frank didn’t try to stop him.  It wasn’t that Frank wanted Jim’s name to be drawn or anything – Frank had seen what losing Sam did to Winona just as well as Jim had – but without the extra there wouldn’t have been enough food for the three of them.  So after four years Jim had his name in seventeen times.  He knew kids who had more.  The numbers didn’t scare him.  But the odds (with his (dead) dad a victor of the Games and his (dead) brother a tribute from four years ago): those didn’t look so good. 

George Kirk had been seventeen when he became the victor of the sixty-ninth Hunger Games.   He’d been twenty-three when he married Winona Blake, twenty-four when their first son was born.  He’d been thirty when he died in a factory accident that was still on record as one of the worst in the District’s history, despite the low number of fatalities.  George was the reason that number had been low, and as a victor he hadn’t actually been required to work at all.  He’d been there because he wanted to be, and Jim had never been particularly sure what he thought about that, let alone that George had died the day Jim was born.  Mostly he ignored it and the pitying looks people tended to give him on his birthday and reaping days.  Those looks had only gotten more frequent in past few years, because of Sam.  George would have been forty-two then. 

Jim’s name had been drawn the very first year his name was in the reaping.  There had been silence in the square after his name had been called.  Some of the people there, afterwards, that someone could have dropped that old clichéd pin and everyone there would have heard it.  It hadn’t been a long silence, just the time between Jim’s name being called and the district’s Vulcan escort asking if there were any volunteers to take Jim’s place.  He was standing on the stage beside her by then, fucking twelve years old and absolutely certain that within the next two weeks he would be dead.  Sam was eighteen, though.  Sam volunteered, and Sam went into the arena.  They had thought, for a while, that Sam might actually win and come home.  He survived the initial bloodbath, kept himself alive through whatever the Gamemakers threw at him… and then it came down to Sam and the male tribute from District Two.  That fight went on for days, with the Capitol going nuts and everyone in District Ten waiting in a horrified silence that was even worse than whenever a twelve-year-old was reaped.  By the end of it, Sam was dead.  Winona broke a little more, and Jim lost what little faith he had left in things ever turning out _good_. 

            He didn’t let himself wonder how things might have been different if his father hadn’t died sixteen years ago.  Instead Jim hauled himself out of bed and started to get dressed, ignoring the chemistry homework scattered across the floor (the window had been open last night and a stray breeze probably blew it off the desk).  He had a few hours before the reaping; he figured he may as well help Frank with breakfast. 

\---

            Spock stood in a group of his so-called peers, all of them facing towards the stage built at the center of District Four’s main town.  The other settlements were scattered along the coastline, but every year those who lived elsewhere traveled to the central town for the reaping.  Attendance at the reaping was mandatory for anyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen.  Their families came so that they could say goodbye if it were necessary.  The teenagers around him were restless.  The day was colder than that time of year typically was in District Four, the breeze coming in off the ocean and seeming to blow right into the middle of the main square.  Several of the children waiting for the reaping wore sweaters and jackets.  Spock was not one of them.  He stood still his back straight and his face expressionless.  His mother, seated on stage with the other former victors, looked calm and collected.  She had wanted him to wear a sweater she’d knitted last winter, but Spock had already grown taller in the months since then.  He would endure the cold, as the non-human he wasn’t supposed to be aware was his father would endure.  Spock had not been told the identity of his father.  It was unlikely that Amanda Grayson, having kept it from everyone else for nearly eighteen years, would tell even her son if he asked.  It did not matter, in the long run. 

The reaping ceremony began with a video, narrated by the Praetor, detailing how the Romulan and Vulcan Empires had come across the planet called Earth in the year 2091.  They saw what the humans had done to their planet and thus established a new system of government: the Capitol, made up of Vulcan and Romulan colonists, which held control over the human populace, now separated by District.  The rebellion in 2151, in which humans had fought against their Imperial benefactors, had been quickly and mercilessly squashed.  The Hunger Games were established to remind the Districts that rebellion could not be tolerated.  Every year, as a reminder of that unnecessary bloodshed, one boy and one girl from each district was sent to the Capitol as a tribute, to participate in the Games.  Twenty-four entered the arena.  One left it alive.  Without the Capitol the humans would have destroyed their planet years ago.  Every year, that was what they were told. 

When the video ended, Sarek stood up from his seat near the former victors and approached the podium set between two glass balls filled with the names of the children of the district.  All of Spock’s life, Sarek had been the escort from the Capitol for District Four.  Amanda had told her son once that Sarek had been their district’s escort for as long as she could remember as well.  The reaping was routine now, no more unusual in Spock’s life than his training or his classes.  The female tribute would be selected first, and then the male.  They would leave on a train to the Capitol after the ceremony was over.  If either were skilled enough, one of them might come back at the end of the Games. 

“Jeyn Fisher,” Sarek read out.  Spock watched the small girl leave the section of fourteen-year-olds for the stage, and waited as volunteers came forward.  Volunteers were uncommon in some districts, but District Four took pride in the skills of their tributes and never had a shortage of them.  Finally a stocky blonde named Thalassa Mitchell was selected as District Four’s female tribute.  Sarek went to the other bowl and drew a name.  He paused before reading it. 

Spock had known, growing up, that someday he would at the least volunteer for the Hunger Games.  He had planned to do so the following year, when he was eighteen and at the peak of his training.  It was only logical.  What was not logical was that Sarek read out Spock’s name after Thalassa had been selected, and for the first time in years there were no volunteers to take his place.  Automatically Spock looked to his mother, but Amanda’s expression had not changed.  That was her advice to him now, then.  Do not show emotion.  He walked up to the stage with his face as blank as hers.  As blank as Sarek’s as well, in fact.  Some small part of Spock was proud that he might have as much emotional control as a Vulcan.  That had always been his mother’s goal in teaching him.  He had thought for some time that might imply his father had been Vulcan as well.  That was the only speculation he allowed himself.  He felt Thalassa looking at him, analyzing how much of a threat he might be, as he reached Sarek’s side.  He ignored her. 

“District Four, your tributes for the ninety-eighth Hunger Games,” Sarek said.  The crowd below them cheered.   

\---

The Capitol sent a new Vulcan escort to District Ten that year.  Her name was T’Hana, and she was no less prim and austere than the previous escort.  If it weren’t for the fact that she appeared to be younger than her predecessor (you could never tell age with Vulcans and Romulans, because they didn’t age at the same rate as humans once they hit maturity), the residents of the district might not have noticed the change at all.  She stood up straight behind the podium at the front of the platform in the square, the very picture of a good Capitol citizen.  Or a good Vulcan one, anyway; Romulans had different temperaments – the guards throughout the city who weren’t human provided plenty of evidence for that.  Still some people couldn’t tell Vulcans and Romulans apart, or perhaps they just didn’t see the point.  Both of them made up the Capitol, and so both of them inflicted the Hunger Games on the districts. 

Behind T’Hana sat the District mayor and the district’s previous victors of the Hunger Games.  There were only four, three men and one woman.  District Ten was known for production of livestock and related products, not for Hunger Games victories.  Everyone on the stage watched the video from the Praetor, but Jim didn’t think too many people were paying close attention.  It was the same video shown every year, and of the six expressions on the faces on the platform, T’Hana’s was the only one unlikely to be hiding a different emotion – or, you know, any emotion.  That was something Jim had noticed with the victors over the years, especially the ones from districts that didn’t win so often: after they’d been around for a few years, they started to develop a neutral sort of mask that they wore at the reapings.  As if hiding how they felt about it was all that got them through.  At least, that was how Jim figured it was.  It wasn’t a subject he’d actually brought up in a conversation before. 

At last the video ended and she stepped forward to begin the reaping.  The girls were first, pulled from the ball to the audience’s right.  “Janice Rand,” T’Hana read out in a flat voice.  Janice was a young blonde, no more than fourteen if not younger.  No one volunteered when asked, but that wasn’t unusual.  T’Hana moved to the other bowl and pulled out the second name.  “James Kirk.” 

There was just a split-second of silence before a woman’s voice shrieked “No!”, and it took no time at all for the cameras to find Winona Kirk, struggling in her husband’s arms as he held her in place.  She didn’t fight for long, and she didn’t scream again, so the cameras refocused on Jim, making his way to the stage with just the slightest hint of a cocky grin on his face.  The cameras going to her had given him just enough time to summon up that grin, because there was no way he was going to show them what he was really feeling.  If the victors could do that, so could he.  Some people went out stone-faced, some scared.  Most were scared, really.  Jim was going to go with a giant “fuck you,” or as close to it as he could manage with just his face.  There was no Sam to take his place this time, and surely this had to be some kind of set up.  No one had ever been drawn twice.  Of course, in most of the districts people whose names were drawn actually went into the arena.  Jim was just delayed for four years. 

\---

The tributes were taken into the Justice Building, where they got an hour for friends and loved ones to say goodbye.  Winona spent most of her part of it just holding on to her son, while Frank hovered kind of uselessly in the background.  Frank and Jim didn’t exactly _not_ get along, but they hadn’t really bonded the way they might have either.  It didn’t help that Winona had pretty much married Frank because she had no other way to support her sons at that point, since she’d been kindly asked to leave the Victor’s Village after George’s death and forced to get a job – never mind the newborn and six-year-old she had to look after.  The Capitol and their enforcers in the districts didn’t seem to care about that sort of thing.  She at least held out until Jim was five, just before Sam’s first reaping.      

She may not have loved Frank then, but she did love him now, and that was the only reason Jim hugged his stepfather when his mother finally let go.  None of them had said anything – Jim knew they were all remembering doing this with Sam, only it had been different then.  Sam had smiled too, but Sam had promised he’d come back home and ruffled Jim’s hair and told him to stay out of trouble while he was gone (something Jim had never managed to do).  Sam had kissed their mother and done some sort of manly-embrace thing with Frank and made them all believe for just a few minutes that things might be okay.  Jim didn’t want to do that to Winona again, so there were just hugs. 

Gary Mitchell, Jim’s best (‘best’ being a subjective term) friend from school, was the next one to come in.  “You better win this thing, you son of a bitch,” were the first words out of Gary’s mouth. 

Jim couldn’t help but laugh.  “That really gonna be the last thing you say to me, Mitchell?”

Gary grinned back, even though it was more than a little forced.  “Of course not.  I’m going to work on stealing Carol while you’re gone.”

That wiped the smile right off Jim’s face.  “Is she…?”

Gary shook his head.  “She said she wasn’t going to say goodbye like this.” 

Jim exhaled.  Carol Marcus wasn’t his girlfriend, which made Gary’s crack about stealing her a moot point, but he did consider her a good friend, and her not even wanting to see him in person one last time kinda sucked.  “Tell her…  You know what, tell her I said goodbye and I’ll see her in a few weeks.”  He could lie to Gary and Carol, when the three of them understood that it was a lie.  If – when – he came back to District Ten, it would most likely be in a box. 

\---

Lunch was served on the train taking the tributes, their mentors, and their escort to the Capitol, and it was awkward as hell.  Janice turned out to be thirteen and ate like a bird, and Jim had a perverse desire to tell her eating like that now wasn’t going to help her later, but he just barely managed not to give in.  T’Hana was silent, naturally, and also ate like a bird, but she was Vulcan and not going to be fighting for her life, so Jim didn’t really care what she did.  Una Pike, the only living female victor from their district, kept her eye on Janice (which made sense, given that Una was going to be Janice’s mentor for the Games), which meant that Christopher Pike was watching Jim.  Like, half-glaring and half-curious watching, which Jim actually found really annoying.  Not really a new thing, because a lot of people looked at Jim that way, but annoying all the same. 

“Something I can help you with, Chris?” Jim asked finally as he served himself thirds of some pasta thing he’d never had before today. 

The corner of Chris’ mouth twitched upward.  “Just considering strategies, Jim.”  Because they’d both been victors, Chris had known Jim’s father and had been at least an occasional presence throughout Jim’s childhood, beyond seeing him from a distance every year during the reaping.  The Pikes had been dinner guests at holidays and everything.  Jim figured, as things went, having a mentor that already knew him wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. 

“Any ideas yet?”  Jim appreciated the uber-subtle scrunching of T’Hana’s nose when he spoke with his mouth full more than the glance Chris and Una shared, and resolved to do it a few more times in front of her as the opportunity arose. 

“We’ll discuss it later,” Chris said.  “We should finish up here; the recap will be on in a few minutes.” 

Janice blanched a little and stopped eating.  Clearly she was more concerned about watching the other districts’ reapings and seeing the rest of the tributes than Jim was.  Seeing the people who were going to die with them in the arena didn’t really appeal to him.    

\---

Thalassa sat forward in her seat, licking her lips as she stared at the viewscreen.  Spock did not know her before the reaping, and he had no interest in getting to know her now.  She looked eager as they watched the rest of the reapings on the train, as though she were imagining how she would destroy each of their opponents.  Spock was impassive still, his face the mask that his trainers encouraged the development of over the years.  At his side, his mother’s expression was nearly identical, but Spock could sense the combination of her pride in his behavior and her fear of what was to come.  He could not see her fear before, during the reaping.  It was best, now that he could, that he did not allow her fear to affect him.  Instead he took note of each tribute, for tactical purposes.  For the most part the other tributes did not stand out in his mind as they were called up, until the boy from District Ten.  Like Spock, he was the son of a former victor.  Unlike Spock, his mother cried out a denial when his name was called.  Even more unlike Spock, he smiled as he approached the stage.  His smile wasn’t quite one of arrogance, the way those of the tributes from District One and Two were.  It was confident, though, and Spock’s curiosity was piqued.  The announcers went wild over the fact that the boy had been reaped before, only for his brother to volunteer and take second place four years ago.  They spoke as if second place were a relevant achievement, and Spock momentarily tuned them out.  James Kirk.  He would remember that name. 

Finally a tiny boy with curly hair and large eyes was reaped from District Twelve, and Spock and Thalassa were released.  The train had almost reached the Capitol, so Spock went over to the window to look rather than return to his cabin.  His mother had been to the Capitol many times, but Spock had not.  He was curious, something that Amanda would tell him was only natural.  The graceful spires and geometric shapes of the Capitol were appealing, and not purely on an aesthetic level.  Spock would find them strangely comforting, if it not for the knowledge that the people who resided in the city were anxiously awaiting his death.  Amanda rose from her seat and stood beside her son, placing one hand on his shoulder. 

“No matter what happens after this point, Spock,” she said softly, “know that you have a proud mother.”  Spock turned to look at her, confused, and Amanda smiled sadly.  “You don’t have to understand, darling.  Just remember.”

Spock did not understand, but he would do as she asked.  He looked out the window again, his eyebrows drawn slightly in. 

\---

Jim sat back in his well-cushioned chair – they didn’t make stuff like this available in District Ten, that was for damn sure.  He figured the other tributes were about what he expected: tall, well-muscled older teens from districts one, two, and four, and a random assortment from the rest.  The guy from nine looked positively pissed, and maybe Jim only noticed him because his own reaping was about to play, but he thought the guy – Leonard McCoy – might make a good ally in the arena.  That was, if Jim decided to acquire allies; he’d have to wait and see.  Then Ten’s reaping played.  It had been aired live too, but the people in the Capitol were the only ones actually able to watch all of the reapings live.  Janice was still quiet and blonde and small, and Winona’s scream was more painful this time around.  T’Hana was the only one of their group not to wince, though Jim thought she did look just a little bit uncomfortable.  The smile he wore as he went up to the stage, like he knew something no one else did, like he wasn’t afraid, looked just how he meant it.  So that’s something.

Both of the tributes from Eleven were gorgeous, looking stronger and more graceful than anyone should have a right to.  They’d get plenty of sponsors.  The boy from Twelve was so tiny, and Jim was pretty sure that the kid didn’t stand a chance by himself.  Other young tributes have managed before, though, so he wasn’t going to count anyone out until they were in the arena and they were dead. 

Chris and Una stood up when the recap ended and announced that it was time for bed.  Jim made a face at that, since he hadn’t had an official bedtime since he was six.  Well, he’d had one, but he’d ignored it.  Chris just looked stern, while Una guided Janice out of the main car and presumably to her cabin.  Chris glanced after them, then back at Jim.  “We’ll be in the Capitol in the morning, Jim.  We’ll discuss plans for training after your stylist is through with you.”  There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke that was infinitely more terrifying than the ‘do as I tell you’ look had been, because of course Jim had seen what stylists did to tributes.  It was rarely good – for the tributes, at least; the Capitol and Romulans in particular seemed to enjoy it.  Probably a humiliation thing. 

True to form, he hid that under bravado anyway.  “I’m not worried about it.”

Chris shook his head, but at least the twinkle didn’t go away.  That was how Jim knew how much he could get away with; if the adults were still amused he hadn’t crossed too many lines yet.  “You say that now, kid.  Wait.” 

Jim just grinned at him.  “Sir, yes sir,” he said, even throwing in a salute before heading to his own cabin.  This might be the only time he’d admit that it was easier to see Chris as a father figure than it had ever been with Frank. The fact that Chris had to send Jim into the arena, with the odds more against him than for him, really sucked.  For Chris, Jim would maybe consider trying to win.  He had considered it for his mom’s sake, even though he would never see the look on her face if he failed (the look at the reaping had been enough).  He wouldn’t see Chris’ either, but if he tried… If he tried, he could die knowing he wasn’t disappointing people.  

\---

\---

Spock woke at dawn and remained still for a few minutes.  His quarters in the training tower were infinitely more lavish than the home he shared with his mother in the Victor’s Village in District Four.  That was not surprising, considering the percentage of the nation’s resources that went to the Capitol rather than the districts.  The Capitol also imported resources, not only from the other nations of Earth but from other planets.  The entirety of Earth was under Imperial control, but only the former Americas had the Hunger Games.  The other nations had witnessed what happened when people defied the Romulan-Vulcan Empire, and they had not repeated the mistake. 

Spock dismissed the reflective thoughts as unimportant and rose. 

After a quiet breakfast with only his mother, Spock was given to the care of his stylist’s preparation team – two Romulan males and a Vulcan female.  One of the Romulans complimented him for not being nearly as hideous as most of the tributes they’d previously dealt with, but a glance from the female silenced that line of conversation.  Spock did not allow himself to wonder about the meaning of her reaction.  As Spock had been taught excellent hygiene from a young age and took all lessons to heart, the team didn’t have to do much before they declared him ready.  The two males left to retrieve their master, leaving Spock alone and naked with T’Pring.  They didn’t look at each other.  After a few minutes, during which Spock calculated the exact odds of his stylist putting him in a truly heinous costume for the parade of tributes that night (high), the Romulans returned with a male who wore an elaborately sculpted beard and a smile. 

“Hello, Spock,” the stylist said.  “My name is Sybok.  Now turn around, let’s see what I’ve got to work with.” 

Spock did as he was told, immediately suppressing his surprise at his realization.  “You’re Vulcan.”  The differences between Romulans and Vulcans were not something most people studied in the standard schools – even those who trained from childhood to be tributes didn’t often learn them – but Spock had.  He simply hadn’t paid much attention to the stylists when they were featured during coverage of the Games. 

Sybok’s smile widened, while T’Pring’s pinched expression tightened.  The male Vulcan stepped closer, presumably to examine Spock further.  “That I am,” he said.  His voice held a musicality Spock had not heard in another’s voice before.  “My father and I have worked with District Four for a long time.” 

Spock looked at him, analyzing his features.  “You are Sarek’s son?” 

Sybok’s smile changed slightly.  Spock suspected it had something to do with his question, but he had no information on Sybok and Sarek’s history.  He had not even known Sarek had a son – the information had not been considered relevant.  Sybok reached out to touch the rounded tip of Spock’s left ear, and Spock resisted the urge to move away from the contact.  He was aware that rules and attitudes in the Capitol were not the same as those of the districts, but he was not used to anyone other than his mother touching him outside a combat training situation. 

“Yes,” Sybok said quietly.  “I am Sarek’s son.” 

Spock desired for the people around him to stop making cryptic statements. 

\---

Jim and Janice were pretty much ambushed the minute they got off the train and whisked away to separate preparation rooms.  The prep team that was manhandling Jim was made up of three females, who stripped his body of hair and scrubbed every speck of dirt from his skin with a determination Jim might have been more impressed by if he wasn’t the target.  Chris had told him not to resist whatever they wanted, and fuck, because half of District Ten knew that Jim was bad at not resisting.  He mostly held still, at least.  The prep team females weren’t afraid to smack him lightly if he moved more than they wanted, and they spent the whole time talking about how humans were just so pink and hairy.  Finally he was deemed presentable, and one of the most attractive Romulans Jim had ever seen – definitely the most attractive he’d ever seen in person – entered the prep room.  Jim remembered seeing her in a few features during previous Hunger Games, though he could have sworn the last time he saw Thea on the viewscreen she had been with District Two.  Two featured a lot more winners than Ten did, so naturally he wondered what she’d done to get demoted. 

Thea’s eyes narrowed as she examined what felt like every inch of him, and the fact that she was as scary as she was beautiful totally didn’t deter Jim’s dick from being completely inappropriately interested.  He was old enough to hope that really wasn’t a thing, being into people who scared the crap out of him, though it wouldn’t make too much difference by next week.  She ignored it anyway.  When she spoke, she spoke to the prep team in Romulan, even though two of the preps were Vulcan.  They responded to it, so Jim guessed it doesn’t matter.  He was just kind of proud that he was sure of the differences, because odds were good none of the Capitol citizens would be expecting that if it came up.  Of course, he also had no clue what was being said; conversational Romulan wasn’t exactly offered on the course schedule at district high schools. 

“So, are you going to let me in on what’s happening, or are you just going to continue being unnerving?” he asked when she snapped a few words and one of the preps left, presumably to do her bidding. 

Thea raised an eyebrow at him.  “I am thinking meat,” she replied, and the dryness of her accented Standard distracted Jim from exactly what she said for a split-second.

“Wait, what?” Surely he’d been wrong and misunderstood, because _what_?    

Thea’s lips curved upward in what could only be described as a smirk.  “Your district produces livestock,” she said slowly, as if she thought Jim was stupid.  She wasn’t the first.  “Dressing tributes in leather and animal skins, or as if they are in a _rodeo_ -” and boy did Jim wish he could imitate half the disdain she put into that word “-is an overdone concept.  I have decided that this year District Ten will wear meat.” 

Jim opened his mouth, for once not even sure where to start with how many things were wrong with her idea.  “Are you crazy?” was what ended up coming out of his mouth.  “That’s, like, all kinds of unsanitary, not to mention it takes the whole animals being led to the slaughter to an extreme…” He trailed off as it clicked that Thea’s smile was totally a predatory one.  “Oh.  Okay then.  Meat clothing.  Awesome.”  At least he got to be dismissed to hang out with Chris (also known as strategy discussion, better known as feeding time, and Jim needed to get away from that metaphor in his own head as soon as possible) while she did her crazy thing.

\---

“So what’s the plan to delay my eventual death, great mentor of mine?” Jim asked around a mouthful of bread.  Yeah, the look on Chris’ face was worth doing that as often as possible. 

“For starters, you need to stop saying that,” Chris said firmly.  He glared when Jim scoffed.  “I mean it, Jim.  Did you know that your father told every one of the tributes he mentored that they could win?”

Jim swallowed.  “I don’t know a lot about my dad, so… no.  I didn’t know that.”  George Kirk may have been one of District Ten’s most lamented heroes, but that didn’t mean he was often discussed in his family’s home.  Winona hadn’t been able to talk about him, a lot of the time, except for saying how he made her happy, and obviously Frank wasn’t going to tell stories about his wife’s first husband.  Sam only remembered bits and pieces of George-the-father, not anything about George-the-man.  Anything Jim knew about his dad came from public knowledge, so… it wasn’t much beyond the story of how he died. 

Chris looked down at his own plate of food for a moment, and when he looked back up at Jim he seemed a little older, a little more tired.  “Your dad didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.  He proved that during his own Games, and he kept with it after until the day he died.  He saved eight hundred lives in twelve minutes.  No one else could have done that.”

“You’re right,” Jim said, putting down the fork he’d just picked up.  “No one else can be as good as him. Not Frank, not Sam, and sure as hell not me.  This’ll go a lot easier if we all accept that even if I do the best I can, I’m gonna die before the month is out.” 

Chris tilted his head and waited for a moment.  “You done?”

Jim rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, sure.”

“Good.”  Chris reached across the table and smacked Jim across the head.

Jim flailed and glared at him.  “Ow!  What the hell was that for?”

Chris gave him the patented Pike-is-not-taking-any-of-your-bullshit look.  “I’ve seen your test scores from school, Jim.  More importantly, I’ve seen all the shit you used to build and half the time, dangle from, in your backyard growing up.  I know you’re not stupid, so stop acting like I’m going to accept the idea.” 

Jim huffed.  “What the fuck do you want me to do, Chris?  At least six of the tributes going in already know how to use weapons and how to kill with them.  I can do a little programming, a little engineering, and a lot of hanging off of things.  That’s not going to keep me alive.” 

“If you didn’t want to stay alive, you wouldn’t be so good at hanging on.”  Chris sighed as Jim stared at him, and ran a hand through his graying hair.  “Look, Jim.  There’s an old movie that people only watch now to laugh at the effects, but one of the lines is ‘do or do not.  There is no try’.  That’s what I’m asking from you know, kid.  Don’t tell me you’ll try to win.  Either you decide you’re going to win or you run straight into the bloodbath at the beginning of the Games and get it the hell over with so none of us have to keep watching.” 

Jim was quiet for a minute.  Chris wouldn’t be saying all of that without a reason.  So maybe Chris really thought he had a chance, for whatever reason.  Thea’s meat-suit wasn’t going to help him, but Chris would.  And Jim could be pretty charming on his own, when he wanted to be.  Trying – or saying he’d try – wasn’t good enough.  Do or do not.  Okay.  “Okay.”  He smiled slowly.  “You have this conversation with all of the kids you mentor?” 

Chris smiled back.  “Just the stubborn ones.  I can get you sponsors.  For now, let’s worry about the training sessions for the next couple of days.  How do you feel about allies?”

“All for it,” Jim said immediately.  Allies could mean the difference between dying horribly and dying horribly alone.  Except he wasn’t going to die, he had to remind himself.  Not in the arena.  Old man in his bed, maybe, still probably alone.  But old.  Not now. 

\---

The parade of tributes, the first major event of the Hunger Games, went on for far longer than Spock would have liked.  He had been training to participate in the Games since he was young, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the attention he was getting.  This attention wasn’t from any actual merit or achievement of his own.  Sybok and Thalassa’s stylist had draped the two of them in silvery mesh over what was little more than shimmering blue underwear.  The tributes costumes for the parade were expected to somehow reflect the industry of their district, and so a number of shells had been attached to the mesh in seemingly random places.  More shells formed crowns for each of the District Four tributes.  Spock didn’t understand the appeal, but even several of the other tributes and mentors were staring while they waited for their turn in the parade, never mind the enthusiastic reaction of the Capitol citizens when the chariot Thalassa and Spock rode lurched forward into view.  Thalassa smiled and waved to the audience.  Spock gave them nothing.  He stared straight forward during the entire parade and waited for it to be over. 

The meat-suits were only slightly less horrible than Jim had expected.  The stuff was covered in some kind of coating (that Jim had absolutely no way of identifying and really didn’t want to ask about) that kept it from being out in the open air and starting to rot, but that didn’t change the feeling of meat against his and Janice’s skin.  Her outfit was more of a dress, and she looked so queasy as she was helped up onto the chariot (led by roan horses, because of course) that would taken them up to the front of the Praetor’s mansion, that Jim wanted to reassure her somehow, but… They were dressed in meat, and in a few days they’d be thrown into an arena and expected to fight a bunch of other teenagers to the death.  There were no words to make that okay for Janice, because her odds of winning were worse than Jim’s. 

“Try not to think about it,” he whispered to her.  She nodded, her face setting into what Jim guessed was the most determined expression she could muster.  He had to give her props for that.  He turned away from her to look at some of the waiting tributes, trying not to shudder at the cold slide of the meat-suit against his skin.  The make-up the prep team had applied had taken ages, detailed and carefully drawn.  Jim had seen plenty of animal carcasses growing up, and he’d still taken a painful swallow after he saw himself in the mirror.  If Thea had been trying to make him look like he’d been half-flayed already, she’d definitely succeeded. 

The tributes from District Eleven were right behind them, wearing outfits that were kind of evoking fruits and vegetables, and Jim shouldn’t have been so pleased that at least he wasn’t the only one wearing food.  Beyond that the kids from District Twelve were nearly naked and covered in black stuff that Jim could only guess was supposed to be coal dust.  He conceded to himself that that was definitely worse than the meat-suit and turned to check out the competition in the other direction.

The chariot for District One had set off while he wasn’t looking, and the one for District Two was going now.  District Three was actually kind of dull, despite being covered in wires or something similar.  District Four caught his attention for the first time, though.  Whoever their stylists were, they’d really done their job on getting their tributes noticed in a way that stopped short of ‘look how ridiculous the humans are dressed!’   The pair looked pretty good as a set, even though neither of them seemed to care about the other.  Good for them.  He just skimmed the rest of the chariots until he got to the one in front of his and Janice’s, District Nine.  He remembered the male tribute from the reaping, and Leonard McCoy didn’t look any less pissed now than he had then.  Jim figured if he were wearing what really couldn’t be described as anything other than a skirt made of wheat, he might look a little pissed too. 

Finally all of the chariots were making their way from the ‘backstage’ area into the streets of the Capitol and down the long trail to the Praetor’s mansion.  Jim went ahead and waved to the audience.  It couldn’t hurt, since aloof and cold wasn’t the image he was going for, and maybe his mom would see it.  He forced a brighter smile and waved even more, to prove that he was still alive and going to fucking stay that way. 

Once all twelve chariots were gathered in front of the mansion, the Praetor, masked and draped in white cloth from head to toe as always, made his speech to declare the official beginning of the 98th Hunger Games.  He gave the same story from the reaping video about the districts rebelling years ago, some more bullshit about Capitol glory, and Jim had tuned out long before the customary “May the odds be ever in your favor!” directed at the tributes, so he didn’t know what else was said and he couldn’t care less.  He wanted out of the chariot and out of the meat-suit, so he could eat dinner and maybe get some training discussion in with Chris before hitting the proverbial hay.  Next to him, Janice was still gripping the front of the chariot tightly.  Jim put one hand on her shoulder, and she relaxed slightly. 

She was thirteen, he’d found out since the reaping.  She should be back home gossiping with other thirteen-year-old girls at a slumber party or something, not here.  Not displayed like a lamb about to be slaughtered.  The hand that wasn’t on her shoulder, the one out of view, clenched into a fist.

\---

“Go around trying a little of everything,” Una instructed them both at breakfast the next morning.  The two tributes and their mentors were eating together, while the Capitol citizens attached to them dined elsewhere.  “There are going to be important things you two will need to learn, but don’t neglect the things you already know.  Especially when you go in front of the Gamemakers.” 

Jim glanced at Chris, who nodded.  The tributes would all work in the training center for the next three days, thrown together in one place for the first time.  Training was when the Careers got to show off, and early alliances were formed.  Everyone got to have some idea of what everyone else could do, or at least what they were willing to show.  At some point on the third day they’d do their thing, one by one, in front of the Gamemakers – the ones who put the whole gruesome show together every year.  The Gamemakers would give a score that would be broadcast that night, since the training was (mercifully, in a lot of cases) not televised.  The scores gave the betting citizens something to work off of, but kept the tributes’ actual skills secret until they were in the arena.  Couldn’t spoil the Capitol’s fun by showing them everything beforehand, after all. 

“Try new things, save the good stuff for when it counts,” Jim said.  “Got it.”  He looked at Janice, and wow, the protective thing was going to be a real hindrance later if it kept up.  That thought made him feel sick, and he put down the roll he’d been picking apart. 

Chris and Una shared a glance, and the two of them rose in unison.  “We should get going,” Chris said, even though training didn’t start until ten and they weren’t really at risk of being late.  Jim was grateful anyway. 

\---

“Explore your weak points, but do not expose them,” Amanda said softly, brushing Spock’s bangs off his forehead just a little.  His hair fell back into place immediately, as it always had, but Spock found the gesture more comforting than anything else had been since their arrival in the Capitol. 

“I know,” he replied, dismayed at his own slight pleasure that Thalassa was on the other side of the elevator listening to her mentor’s last minute advice and not paying attention to Spock and his mother. 

Amanda smiled slightly.  There was still that sadness in her eyes that Spock suspected would not leave until the Games were over.  “Don’t show off either,” she warned teasingly before reaching up to adjust his collar. 

Spock nodded. “I won’t.”  He already knew he was more skilled than most of the other tributes would be.  To demonstrate it now was unnecessary.  The skills would matter most in the arena, not here. 

The elevator made the sound that indicated they had reached the lowest levels of the training building, and Amanda stood on her toes to press a kiss to her son’s temple just before the doors opened.  Mentors were not allowed to attend the training sessions.  “I love you,” she said as Spock started to leave the elevator behind Thalassa. 

He turned around just long enough to say “I know,” before continuing on his way. 

\---

Jim actually paid attention during the head trainer’s introduction and explanation of what kind of stuff they had down in the gymnasium, because that stuff was actually important.  Yes, it was what he expected, about learning what you’re going to need to know in the arena and no fighting the other tributes, but still important.  Once the tributes were dismissed to start, he turned to Janice.  “You want to go around together?”  It wouldn’t make much difference in the long run.  Jim just felt bad about leaving her alone, and on the elevator ride down here he’d decided to just give in and deal with the consequences later. 

Janice shook her head, though, and put on that same determined expression from the parade before heading toward one of the weapons racks.  Jim couldn’t help but be a little impressed at her attitude.  He took a deep breath and looked around.  There was a group of tributes from Districts One, Two, and Four near the collection of spears and targets, already laughing together.  Except for the boy from District Four.  Jim had to look around to find him, across the training hall speaking with a trainer who looked positively thrilled.  Huh. 

A lot of the tributes were just standing around, like they weren’t sure what to do.  Those trying out weapons who weren’t with the group of Careers were pretty clearly novices, and Jim tried not to wince as Janice threw an axe and missed the target by several feet.  Instead of hitting up the danger zone, he headed for the edible plants station.  They wouldn’t find out what the arena held until they were in it, and Jim knew if he was going to win he needed to know what he could and couldn’t eat. 

… It didn’t hurt that the girl from District Eleven was already over there. 

She didn’t respond to Jim’s smile, just kept studying the chart the trainer had laid out on the station’s table.  Jim got that.  He and Chris had discussed how alliances weren’t easy to initiate, because if you liked the other person you kind of had to hope someone else would kill them before you had to.  If you didn’t like them at all, the alliance wasn’t going to last long without some mutually beneficial reasons.  Those couldn’t be manufactured during training, but sometimes they came up in the arena. 

For now, Jim just looked over the girl’s shoulder at the chart, and then back and forth between it and the stuff on the table.  He probably should have remembered the girl’s name. 

\---

All of the tributes ate lunch in a room off the gymnasium.  There were several long tables laid out, and small carts filled with food that they served themselves from.  Jim got his food and looked around.  Janice was in a corner alone, and he was tempted to sit with her.  Most of the tributes sat alone, except for the group that had banded together at the beginning.  So Jim was going to change things up.  He sought out Leonard McCoy and then sat down across from him.  Jim gave Leonard his very best smile (which was damn good, if he said so himself).  “Hi.  I’m Jim Kirk.” 

Leonard looked up from his plate and snorted.  “Everyone knows who you are, dumbass.  Go sit somewhere else.” 

Oh, Jim just liked Leonard more now.  He grinned.  “Nah, I like it here with you, Leonard.”  He got an eyebrow raise for that.  “What, I pay attention to things.  Just because I look like a bimbo doesn’t mean I am one.”  

Leonard snorted again.  “Yeah, okay.”  He didn’t look so pissed off anymore, at least.  Point to Jim. 

It turned out Leonard knew the names of all of the other tributes, and that the girl from District Eleven was Nyota Uhura.  Jim thought it suited her.  He and Leonard ended up going to a few more training stations together after lunch.  Jim threw knives well and axes decently, but Leonard – Jim really needed to come up with a nickname for him – was better with traps and snares.  It was on the second day of training, while they were discovering that they were both abso-fucking-lutely terrible with a bow and arrow, that Jim started watching the guy from District Four a little more.  Spock Grayson, Leonard said.  Jim hadn’t bothered with the name before, because until training started Jim had lumped Spock in with the other tributes from the rich(er) districts in his mind.  He wouldn’t be making that mistake again.  Jim hadn’t seen Spock struggle with anything at a station since he started watching the other boy.  Watching Spock with a sword completely distracted Jim from… whatever it was he and Leonard were doing at the time.  At least he wasn’t the only one.  The Gamemakers, watching from bleachers on one side of the gym, were just as fascinated as Jim and several of the other tributes.  Leonard apparently wasn’t, though, because he nudged Jim on to the next station.   

Spock was eating his lunch alone on the second day of training when a plate full of food was put down in front of the seat across from his.  He looked up to find James Kirk smiling down at him.  James seemed to have even more of the intriguing quality that had initially attracted Spock’s interest up close, and Spock got a little of the sense that the other boy knew it.  Amanda had already shared what the Capitol was saying about the tributes so far, and after the reaping and parade James and Spock were the most talked about.  Spock was ranked high in odds of winning, but James apparently interested the Capitol audience on a more personal level.  It made for a good story, Amanda had explained: son of a victor, brother of a previous tribute who had volunteered to save James from the fate he now faced.  Vulcans, for all that they tried to appear austere, enjoyed the drama, according to Amanda.  Romulans reveled in it, and so the entire Capitol’s interest was piqued.  It was possible that the entire world was watching with just as much interest; Amanda did not have access to that information until after training scores were revealed.  At that point she would begin speaking with potential sponsors, and those would come from more than just their nation. 

“I’m going to assume this seat isn’t taken,” James said as he sat down.  The brown-haired boy he had sat with the previous day was staring from a few feet away, as though he couldn’t believe what James was doing.  Neither could Spock, frankly.  He had chosen not to ally with the other favored tributes and had not thought anyone else would try to approach him.  “I’ve been told that everyone knows who I am,” James continued, “but I was also taught that introducing myself was polite, so I’m Jim Kirk.”  He looked at Spock expectantly. 

Spock’s eyes narrowed slightly.  James – or Jim, as he had said – was not going to have any more success in allying himself with Spock than the others had, no matter how intriguing Spock himself had found his reaction at the reaping.  “Spock Grayson,” he replied, “as I presume you already knew.” 

Jim’s smile widened.  He didn’t seem concerned that his former lunch partner found a seat elsewhere.  “See, was that so hard?” 

“Yes.”

Jim laughed, and the sound echoed through the room.  None of the tributes had laughed during the meals or just with each other.  Even the Careers, with all their confidence, hadn’t laughed.  Spock wasn’t sure what to think of that. 

\---

Tributes were called away from the dining room for their private training session with the Gamemakers towards the end of lunch on the third day, starting with District One.  Spock saw, as soon as he entered the gymnasium that afternoon, the advantage in being from a lower-numbered district.  It wasn’t surprising that Districts One, Two, and Four tended to get the best scores – not only were they usually trained prior to their arrival in the Capitol, but the Gamemakers were still interested and paying attention when it was their turn.  He dismissed the stray thought wondering how that would affect Jim’s score as soon as it occurred.  His interest in the other boy was, all things considered, irrelevant. 

He went around to various weapons stations, as he knew that was what the Gamemakers expected to see from him.  A tribute in his position, already well-received with good odds for winning, did not need to show the Gamemakers anything surprising.  He was more than proficient with the weapons he chose to work with, and he left at the end of his session confident that he would receive a high score.  Amanda had not had to remind him that the score was not a guarantee of winning.  Spock already knew there was no such thing. 

 Jim had eaten lunch with Leonard – officially nicknamed Bones as of their morning training, during which the boy from District Nine had shown off his knowledge of human anatomy – on the third day, and sat with him until Leonard was called in for his training session.  Tributes didn’t come back after their sessions, so Jim was left with the girl from Leonard’s district (a pretty, blue-eyed blonde), Janice (who was looking queasy yet again), and the tributes from Eleven and Twelve.  Nyota and Gregory M’Benga were sitting near each other but not talking, and the girl from Twelve was sitting as far away from her tiny male counterpart as possible.  Jim was plotting his routine when Christine Chapel was called away, and then it was just fifteen short minutes before his own name was called. 

The Gamemakers were getting bored.  It wouldn’t be as bad for Jim as for the ones after him, but he’d still have to work to catch their attention.  He threw some knives at targets for a few minutes to start with anyway.  The other thing he had in mind wasn’t weapon-related, so he didn’t know how well it was going to go over, but it was the best thing he had, besides AP Chemistry classes but there was no guarantee he could use that in the arena.  This… he probably could, somehow. 

Not too many people had gone over to the gymnastics equipment set up on one side of the gymnasium during regular training.  No one had touched the high bar, at least not that Jim had seen.  School sports weren’t a huge thing back in the districts, since most of them didn’t really train the kids for their future occupations.  The school in District Ten had a gymnastics team, though, and Jim had never found a more athletic use for his ability to hang on to things than that.  He used the routine that had won him first place in the school-wide competition last year, and when he dismounted all twenty-four of the Gamemakers were looking at him.  He grinned and took a bow.  No telling how they’d score, but they’d been looking. 

\---

Thea and Janice’s stylist (whose name Jim didn’t know and wasn’t going to bother to learn) both looked bored while they waited for the announcement of the training scores.  Jim couldn’t blame them, really.  Thea used to do this for higher-ranked districts, so of course she was going to be pissy all the way through her first year after being demoted.  Janice had barely eaten at dinner, even though Una had tried to coax as much food into the girl as she could.  Jim ate like the food was going to run out.  He’d told Chris about the high bar, and the judges paying attention.  Chris had grinned and patted him on the back, but it wasn’t enough to think he’d done okay. 

The viewscreen in front of the couch flickered and came to life, and Janice went paler (Jim hadn’t thought that was possible).  Jim pretended not to see Una and Chris looking at each other as he pulled the younger tribute over to the couch and settled her next to him while the announcer on the screen (Romulan, they’d have a Vulcan with him for the actual Games, but Jim wouldn’t see that commentary) gave his opening statements.  Then it was straight into the scores.  A one was the lowest possible score, and a twelve was the highest. The tributes from Districts One and Two followed tradition and got nines and tens.  District Three pulled a five and a two, and then it was Spock’s turn.  His picture flashed onto the screen, and underneath it a twelve. 

Six floors below, the main living area for the District Four group was silent.  Thalassa only spent a few seconds glaring at Spock before she and her mentor looked to the screen again to see her score – a nine, some part of Spock’s mind noted.  Amanda was watching her son, and the emotions her eyes expressed were conflicted.  In the district, Spock supposed people were cheering.  It had been a long time since any tribute received the highest possible score.  In the arena that might make him a target for the Career group.  What Spock didn’t understand was that he had only performed adequately during training.  He was capable of much more than he’d shown the Gamemakers, and he wondered if they somehow knew that.  Sybok’s hands were gripping the back of the couch tightly behind Spock’s head, and Spock just barely caught Amanda glance towards Sarek.  There was something they all knew that he did not.  Perhaps it had to do with his father, of whom Amanda never spoke.  Sarek had known Amanda for twenty years, since her Games, and might know the truth.  To ask him would not be appropriate.   There was an irrational, fleeting thought that perhaps Sarek was his father.  It was both illogical and the most logical answer.  Sarek and Amanda had known each other since before Spock was born.  Spock’s green blood was proof that his father had not been human.  Human/Vulcan hybrids, however, were virtually unheard of.  Results of Romulan and Human procreation – usually unwilling – were terminated.  Spock had no explanation for why he had not only been born, but allowed to live this long.  But none of it mattered.  Spock had decided before his first reaping that he did not wish to know.  His father’s identity did not affect his own. 

He turned back to the screen.  Hikaru Sulu of District Six had just received a seven, a decent score for a district known more for their victors’ drug use than their involvement in transportation production. 

It was coming.  The kids from Districts Seven and Eight got middle to low range scores, and then Leonard pulled a seven.  His district-mate had a six, and then…

James Kirk, eight. 

Janice Rand, three.

Chris patted Jim on the back again, but nothing more, because Janice burst into tears.  Una took her back to her room while Jim and Chris watched the rest of the scores in uncomfortable silence.  Seven for Gregory M’Benga, eight for Nyota Uhura, four for Martha Landon, and six for Pavel Chekov.  Then the Capitol seal appeared on the screen and it was over.  Thea and her partner left, presumably to finish up Jim and Janice’s outfits for the interviews tomorrow night.  Jim and Chris continued to sit quietly.  The whole Training Center was soundproofed, so there wasn’t even traffic and noise from outside to break the silence. 

“You did good, kid,” Chris said after a while. 

Jim smiled a little.  “Thanks.” 

\---

“You’re going to be asked about your brother,” Chris said over a late breakfast the next morning.  Janice and Una had presumably already eaten and gone off somewhere to conduct their own preparation for the interview that night.  Jim was mostly wondering why he and Chris always seemed to have conversations over food – not that he was complaining.  Capitol food was kind of weird, because it was mostly stuff Vulcans and Romulans (well, probably Romulans, since Vulcans were vegetarians and there was totally meat on the table every day) ate rather than standard human fare like at home, but the quality was just so much higher that Jim didn’t care.  The things people in the Capitol did with bread, seriously. 

“They might want to know how you feel about your dad and the stuff he’s known for,” Chris continued, looking at Jim seriously.  The boy swallowed his current mouthful and paid attention.  “But they’re definitely going to ask about Sam.” 

“They’re not going to like what I want to say to them about Sam,” Jim said bluntly.  “So I’m guessing I should come up with something else.” 

Chris’ lips twitched slightly.  “Probably.  Deflect if you have to.  Potential sponsors have already contacted me,” and that wasn’t too much of a surprise, really, with the hype Jim bet was spreading just because of his heritage, “but the events of this week so far have been about what other people make of you without your input.  Tonight is the only chance that you have, before you go into the arena, to make them interested in who you might be.” 

Not _who you are_ , Jim noticed.  That made a sick sort of sense; the Capitol didn’t care about who their tributes and victors actually were.  They just wanted that image of a person who looked like they’d overcome everything even though they were just as much under the government’s boot as they’d always been.  Maybe even more so.  Jim was itching to ask about that, what it was really like to be a victor and what that meant for Chris, at least.  He didn’t have anyone else he could ask about it, though sometimes he imagined it was the sort of thing he might have asked his dad at some point, if George had lived.  Probably Sam, if Sam had survived and come home.  At the same time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.  Especially if he was wrong about winning (but he was Jim Kirk; he was never wrong, just occasionally a little off in his calculations) and it wouldn’t matter.  It was probably best to deal with it with the same attitude his family had towards the reaping, he decided.  They didn’t talk about it until it was done and then they dealt with the consequences.  Never mind how that had turned out in the end. 

Jim set his silverware down on his plate and wiped at his mouth with a cloth napkin (that was made of nicer material than some of the stuff the Mayor’s wife and daughters _wore_ back in District Ten).  “So we should practice until I get it right, huh?” 

\---

“Tell me about your training score,” Amanda said, intentionally taking on an accent that was more like that of Polonius, the Romulan who had hosted the interview portion of the Hunger Games for the past fifty years or so.  Amanda was good with sounds, so her attempt was better than another person’s might have been. 

“I was pleased that the Gamemakers found my skills favorable,” Spock replied. 

Amanda raised an eyebrow.  “That sounds rehearsed, Spock,” she said, maintaining the accent. 

“It is rehearsed,” Spock returned.  Sybok, adjusting the shirt that was part of Spock’s suit for the interview, didn’t even bother to cover up a snort.  Spock stared down at him; Sybok had already demonstrated that he was not very like other Vulcans, but Spock had never seen a Vulcan amused before.  Amanda dropped character and glared at the Vulcan. 

“You aren’t helping,” she said, and Sybok went back to his business.  Spock looked up and held still as his mother addressed him again.  “I realize it’s… difficult… to find words to describe how you felt when you received that score, Spock.  The Capitol will expect you to be proud of it.” 

“The skills I demonstrated were not worthy of that score, Mother,” he said flatly.  Sybok’s pause this time was so brief Spock couldn’t even be sure there had been one.    

“Then say that you simply performed to the best of your abilities,” Amanda continued.  “Imply that the score is exactly what you expected.  You cannot tell them you do not feel you deserved what they gave you; neither Vulcans nor Romulans idolize modesty... regardless of whether or not that’s what it is,” she added when Spock opened his mouth to correct her.  He schooled his expression back to the emotionless one he gave everyone else.  Amanda seemed to take that as acquiescence and sank down onto the nearby couch. 

“Let’s try again.” 

\---

Spock’s suit was dark blue and simple, he found out later.  “I like you in blue,” Sybok had explained, as if that were the most relevant thing.  Perhaps it was; Spock found Capitol fashion and Hunger Games fashion in particular fairly baffling.  This particular suit was of an old style with Earth origins, but that wasn’t particularly surprising.  Putting humans in Vulcan or Romulan fashion wasn’t done often.  He could not deny, as he was positioned in front of a mirror while Sybok made some final adjustments, there was a certain aesthetic pleasantness to the image of him that had been created. 

Their group met up with Thalassa and her mentor and stylist outside the studio where the interviews would take place, in a crowd of other tributes and their entourages.  Spock glanced around.  The other tributes, including Thalassa, were also dressed in Earth styles from varying periods and cultures in the planet’s history.  Jim Kirk’s suit was of an era near to the one Spock’s drew from, while Leonard McCoy, already scowling at something the lighter-haired boy said, wore something from roughly a century and a half earlier. 

Jim’s suit for the interview wasn’t terrible, and that was about all he could say about it at first.  Flattering cut, good color, and… not really something that was going to stand out.  So that was all on Jim, but he hadn’t expected anything less anyway.  She sicced the prep team on him again, and they put something in his hair that made it stick up in random places.  He was deeply, deeply tempted to try to flatten it once he was out of their clutches.  He didn’t, in the end, and instead spent the time before they were all sent out to sit in front of the stage making fun of how Leonard was dressed.  Christine Chapel was dressed in an off-the-shoulder gown from the same period, with a hoop skirt and everything, but she looked beautiful.  Leonard actually looked pretty damn good himself, but Jim found it a lot more entertaining to tease than to tell him that.  Really, all of the tributes looked pretty good.  Jim stood out even less than he’d expected among this crowd. 

He didn’t get a good look at Nyota until they were lined up to go into the studio, and then it was a little hard to look away – her dress was short enough to show off long legs, and a hat that looked like a huge flower was set at an angle on her loose, curled hair.  Her glare just made him smile before he focused his attention forward, and then they were all walking in a line to their seats.  Jim settled into his, prepared to pay attention to the images the other tributes were going to present. 

The first seven tributes went by without standing out too much to Jim, though he got the impression of a strong sense of humor from the guy from District Three.  Then it was Spock’s turn, and Jim straightened unconsciously to listen. 

“I know you’re not allowed to give us specifics, but a twelve, Spock.  Do you think you deserved that score?”  Polonius had begun with fairly inane questions, including what it was like to grow up with a victor as a parent.  Spock seemed prepared for nearly all that he’d been asked, but Jim (and the audience) hadn’t expected Polonius to be so direct about that particular question. 

Spock’s pause was brief, almost as if it were practiced.  “I received the score that the Gamemakers felt was appropriate,” he answered.  Then his time was up, and it was the girl from District Five’s turn.  Jim slumped a little again through the rest of the interviews, though he at least smiled while Leonard scowled and snarked during his turn.  Janice was obviously scared, but she pulled herself together enough to answer Polonius’ questions.  Then it was Jim’s turn. 

Polonius leaned forward a little once Jim was seated and the few catcalls from the audience quieted down.  Jim waved at the audience, then smiled at the Romulan, and got one in return. 

“Isn’t he charming, citizens?” he directed at the audience, waiting for a smattering of applause before turning back to Jim.  “Quite a change from your parade look,” he continued, gesturing at Jim’s clothes, “though I have to compliment your stylist on the ingenuity.” 

Jim’s lips quirked at more of an angle.  “Yeah, pretty sure it was something new for everyone.”  Thea was somewhere out there, but she couldn’t plot any more horrible outfits for him until the Games were over, so he wasn’t too worried about pissing her off. 

“How did you feel, when your name was called?  Especially without a brother to take your place this time?” Polonius seemed to be into bluntness this year, like that was something that went in and out of fashion the same way clothing did. 

Knowing the question was coming and hearing it weren’t really the same.  Jim reminded himself that he and Chris had discussed how to answer it without pissing the wrong people off.  His responding smile went a long towards that.  “A little surprised, I guess.  No one’s ever been reaped twice before,” he pointed out teasingly, and Polonius smiled back indulgently.  “Determined to go home, though,” he added seriously.  He hadn’t been then, but he was now.  That was the important thing.  “My mom’s lost enough of her Kirks.” 

Polonius smiled, and Jim relaxed.  “That’s a wonderful sentiment,” the Romulan said, the smile turning slightly feral.  Jim held his own smile in place, pretending not that he didn’t notice but that it didn’t matter.  They were already going to throw whatever they wanted at him just because he was a tribute.  If his heritage and attitude made it worse?  Bring it on. 

\---

They were supposed to get a good night’s rest before being taken to the arena in the morning, but for Jim, that just wasn’t happening.  He wandered into the main room of the district’s suite, not bothering to turn on the lights.  He didn’t need them to see Janice sitting on the wide windowsill, staring out at the lights of the Capitol.  Jim paused for a second, then went over to sit across from her.  The window was huge, and they both fit easily. 

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh,” he said.  It wasn’t a question, because he figured plenty of the kids in the tower were doing the same thing.  It was dumb, really, to expect a bunch of teenagers to sleep the night before they were going to be thrown into an arena and expected to kill each other.   

Janice still didn’t look at him, just kept staring blankly outside.  It was a great view, Jim had to admit.  Whoever the architects were – Vulcan, Romulan, both; he didn’t know – had built every part of the city with aesthetics in mind.  Which was… kinda weird, because shouldn’t alien aesthetics be more… alien?  Whatever. 

“I’m going to die in the morning,” Janice said after a moment, and Jim looked at her but didn’t reply.  She kept talking, her voice dull and almost monotonous.  “I never got to do anything.  All my friends said Johnny Farrell had a crush on me, but I never got to do anything about it. I’m not going to, because I’m going to die tomorrow.”  She glanced at him.  “But you’re not.”

“It might not be tomorrow,” Jim pointed out.  “You’re not stupid; you could last longer.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I got a three in training, Jim.  Maybe if I were older, or had a better reason than some boy liking me.  But I’m not, and I don’t.”  She studied him for a moment.  “Your odds aren’t that great either.” 

Jim smiled at that, but it wasn’t a happy smile.  “They never have been.” 

\---

Jim figured he and Janice must have fallen asleep on the windowsill, because that’s where he was when Chris came to get him just before dawn.  Janice was already gone, but… well, she was already gone as far as she was concerned too, wasn’t she.  Jim had time for a quick shower (the Capitol’s showers were probably the most perfunctory and least luxurious thing he’d encountered there, but they were still better than the ones back home) and some breakfast before he and Chris got into the elevator and headed for the car that would take them to the spaceport, where Jim would board a shuttle to the arena.  Chris wouldn’t be going with him; mentors said their goodbyes at the ‘port. 

“You’ve seen previous Games,” Chris said when they were in the car.  Jim snorted, because of course he’d seen previous Games.  His reaction didn’t deter the speech.  “There will be a Cornucopia in the center of the starting point.  You have to stay where you’re transported for a full minute, so you’ll have that much time to get an idea of the area.  If there’s something worthwhile that’s close by, go for it when the minute is up.  Regardless, get out of there as soon as possible.  Find water and somewhere to hide, if you can.  Figure out a way to stay alive.” 

“That’s really specific advice there, Chris,” Jim said, looking at the older man.  Chris was pushing forty and looked exactly as tired as one might expect a guy who’s forced to send kids to their death every year to look. 

He also looked unimpressed.  “Don’t be a smartass right now, Jim.  There’s no telling what kind of arena they’re using.  You did the survival stuff during training, and you’re not stupid.  I’ll see you in two weeks and then you can be as much of a smartass as you want.” 

“I’m not going to want to so much by then, though, right?  So I may as well get it all out now.”  That was bullshit; Jim would probably be smartassing people right up to the last death cannon.  He was pretty sure it was a genetic thing from his mom’s side, since she did it too. 

The car ride was way too short, and Jim wasn’t surprised when Chris hugged him after they got out, standing outside the entrance to the spaceport with Romulan guards waiting to escort Jim to the shuttlecraft. 

“You would have been a good dad,” slipped through Jim’s mind and out his mouth, but it just made Chris tighten the hug before letting go and looking him in the eye. 

“Kids like you are the reason I never wanted to be,” Chris said, and Jim got that – victor’s kids had a higher chance of being reaped (look at Jim), and that was just for starters.  “Two weeks, kid.”

Jim grinned, the default reaction.  “Sir, yes sir.” 

\---

It was not logical for Spock to wish to remain in the moment where his mother was hugging him and telling him goodbye.  He had been taller than her for the past two years or so, but that didn’t prevent the feeling of her arms around him from being associated with safety and comfort.  He was also seized by an utterly irrational urge to ask her now, in the last moments they would ever have together, to tell him the identity of his father.  It could not matter now any more than it ever had, and so he did not ask. 

“Farewell, Mother,” he said instead as they released each other. 

“I love you,” Amanda said softly.  “No matter what happens, remember that.” 

Spock nodded, and then he turned to follow the waiting guards through the spaceport’s gates.  He would prefer his mother’s presence in the time just before the Games, but that was not how things were done.  The memory of her love, and an older one of her smile, would have to suffice. 

The walk to the shuttle was silent, and the guards left as Spock boarded.  Several other tributes were already seated inside by the time Spock arrived, and Jim Kirk looked up from a tracker being embedded in his forearm to meet Spock’s eyes.  Spock dismissed the fluttering in his stomach as nerves from what was soon to occur and took the seat a flight attendant directed him to. 

\---

The outfit waiting for Jim in the final prep room was simple: black pants and boots, a black undershirt, and a gold pullover with a hood hidden in a zipped pocket on the back of it.  He wasn’t sure what kind of material the pullover was made of, except that it had a little stretch to it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Thea.  She just stood there while he got dressed, then did something to his hair to make it spiky again.  Jim wondered why it mattered, since it wasn’t like it would stay that way all through the Games. 

He sat on the bench near the platform he’d stand on to be transported up into the arena, while Thea leaned against the table across the room.  If Jim could have chosen who would be here in these last few minutes, it wouldn’t have been Thea.  Chris would have at least talked to him.  He didn’t know what Gary would have said that hadn’t been said back at the beginning (was there life before the Hunger Games?), and was this really the first time he’d thought of specific people from back home since arriving at the Capitol?  Some friend he was.  They had to be watching the screens there by now, waiting for the start of the Games, because it was mandatory and they all did it every year.  Jim wondered, suddenly, how Sam had felt, sitting in the room below his arena.  It was a different room; they built new arenas every year so the old ones could become tourist attractions for the Empire and other people across the galaxy.  Sometimes they were on Earth, but sometimes they put kids on other planets under Imperial control.  No way of knowing until he was on the other side of that tube.  But Sam had been in a room like this, with his stylist (a Romulan who had retired last year, if Jim remembered correctly, who had never had a tribute get as far in the Games as Sam did).  Chris hadn’t been Sam’s mentor.  Jim wondered if Sam might have come home if he had, and if some other kid would be sitting here instead. 

They would never know. 

\--- 

Spock was not opposed to Sybok’s presence.  The Vulcan did not behave as the others Spock had seen of his people did.  He chattered as Spock dressed, apparently stopping for breath as the seventeen-year-old pulled the last piece of clothing, a blue pullover, on.  Sybok stood in front of the boy and brushed his black hair into place with his fingers. 

“There is a phrase,” Sybok said, his tone lower than usual, “in a collection of wisdom that Vulcans still read but Romulans don’t.  _Tilek svi'khaf-spol t'vathu - tilek svi'sha'veh_.”  His voice sounded even more lyrical in the alien language. 

Spock tilted his head.  It was a strange moment to take notice of the fact that he was nearly the same height as his stylist.  “The spear in the other’s heart is the one in your own,” he translated out loud.  His mother had taught him what she knew of Vulcan culture, learned during the time she spent in the Capitol, and that had included Surak’s teachings.  “Why repeat that phrase to me now?” 

Sybok’s eyes had widened when Spock gave him the Standard translation, but he relaxed – no, relaxed was not the right word; he _deflated_ , perhaps – when Spock asked his reasoning.  “I’m not a strict follower of Surak’s teachings by any means, but I can acknowledge that a lot of them have merit.  You come from a district where just participating is considered an honor, and winning is the highest achievement.  What they don’t tell you is how the Hunger Games change the people who manage come out of them alive.”  He looked at Spock, waiting until their gazes locked.  “Try not to change too much; your mother will cry if you do, sa-kai.” 

Spock tilted his head quizzically.  He did not wish to cause Amanda further anguish, but why should it matter to Sybok?  There was no time to address that, or Sybok’s use of the word ‘brother’ and the strange feeling it gave him.  A voice, made to sound soothing but still distinctly electronic, asked for tributes to please step onto their transporter platforms, and Sybok moved away from Spock.  The Vulcan’s smile turned forced.  “Go on, then.  It’s time.”  Spock walked slowly to the transporter pad, still thinking over Sybok’s words. 

“Dif-tor heh smusma,” he said suddenly.  _Live long and prosper_.  The words were a traditional farewell, but he found that he did mean them with regards to Sybok. 

Sybok’s smile changed, became less forced.  It was how Spock would prefer to remember him.  “Sochya eh dif,” the Vulcan replied.  _Peace and long life_.   

Spock raised an eyebrow, but his mouth twitched.  He could have one or the other.  After the Hunger Games began, he would not be able to have both. 

\---

Traveling by transporter beam, especially when it was your first time, was disorienting, to say the least, and Jim wondered if that was one of the reasons tributes had to remain put on the circles they landed on for a full minute before the Games really began.  If they took even one step off their circles, phaser systems that weren’t deactivated until the gong at the end of that sixty seconds would obliterate the offending tribute.  There wouldn’t be anything left to send back to their district.  That had happened a few times, and once (the year before Sam, actually) there had been some sort of transporter issue that spliced several tributes before they even made it to the arena. Not things people liked to talk about.   

Jim took the time to breathe and blink, waiting for the spots in his vision to go away.  He and the other tributes were arranged in a circle around the Cornucopia, shaped just as its name suggested and filled with weapons, food, and other supplies.  The stuff was spread out around the thing towards the tributes, but the closer to the starting points the less valuable it was.  The tributes were all in outfits that looked like his, but not everyone had on the same color shirt.  There were red shirts and blue shirts as well as more gold ones – probably eight of each color, he figured, if the colors weren’t supposed to mean anything.  He could see Spock and Leonard next to each other but several spots away, both in blue.  Janice was on the other side of Spock in red.  Jim wasn’t going to watch for her when the gong rang, he decided then and there.  He didn’t want to watch her die. 

On the side of the Cornucopia opposite him, there was an old compound that would probably end up being where the Careers set up.  The ground was dry and a little sandy, and all around as far as Jim could see were hills with scrubby trees and brush.  His plan, which he figured did pretty much fit in with what Chris told him to do, was to go in just far enough towards the Cornucopia to grab the first weapon he saw and a couple of supplies before he hightailed it out of there.  Anyone who stayed at the Cornucopia too long and didn’t have the skills to take down attackers died.  Jim wasn’t going to die.  Hopefully he’d meet up with Leonard within the next couple of days and they could deal with whatever together.  Leonard was the only person Jim knew for sure wasn’t going to try to kill him.  Well, maybe Spock too, but after a training score of twelve it was better to be cautious. 

_Five, four, three, two, one._

           

No one really heard the announcer say “Let the ninety-eighth annual Hunger Games begin,” since the gong had already sounded, but no one really needed to. 

 Spock was the first tribute to reach the center of the supplies, but he did not intend to remain there long. He picked up a sheathed sword, a glaive that felt balanced in his hand, and a backpack filled with food and two bottles of water.  He turned to make his way out just in time to dodge a club wielded by Gregory M’Benga of District Eleven.  There was no time for any reaction but the one that training had burned into Spock’s muscles, and he struck out with the glaive.  Gregory dropped his club as the blade sliced across and deep into his chest.  Then he fell, and Spock dropped the glaive like he’d been burned.  Spock ran.  He didn’t even notice when he was caught in the spray of blood from the male tribute from District One slicing the girl from District Five in half.  He kept going, heading for the hills and whatever might lie beyond them. 

Jim grabbed a small pouch a little ways in and an empty bottle nearby.  He yanked the strap attached to the bottle over his head and ducked so a knife thrown by one of the people further in didn’t hit him in the face, but he picked that up as he ran off.  It wasn’t until he had scrambled over one of the hills (and closer up they were more like really big rock formations than just hills, but whatever) and could just barely hear the clamor at the Cornucopia that he stopped to breathe and checked out what he’d grabbed.  The pouch contained five small knives with sheathes, designed to be concealable.  It was a damn good find, considering he hadn’t tried to go too far in.  Jim tore off his pullover and armed himself: a knife at each wrist, one strapped to his right leg, one in his left boot, and one at the back of his belt.  Then he checked out the sixth knife he’d picked up.  It had a partially serrated edge, so it would be more of a working knife.  He could save the others for fighting and throwing.  There was no sheath, though, and he debated where to put it. 

There was a noise behind him, and Jim whirled around, shifting his hold on the knife automatically. 

“Calm the fuck down, Jim; it’s just me.”  Leonard emerged from behind a nearby bush and wiped his forehead, pushing his hair off it.  “It’s a little early in the Games to stick me with that thing,” he added, gesturing at the knife Jim held.  “Especially if it’s the only one you’ve got.”  

“I figured I’ve got a right to be paranoid, Bones,” Jim replied easily, lowering the weapon.  “And it isn’t.”  Jim kind of wanted to kiss whoever had put the set so far out from the center of the Cornucopia, honestly.  Except not, because he’d seen the Gamemakers and they didn’t appeal so much.  “I’ve also got a bottle, for when we find a water source.” He gestured at it with his free hand.  “You manage to grab anything?”

 Leonard slid a large coil of rope off one shoulder.  “I’ve got this,” he drawled.  Jim reached out, and Leonard handed the rope over.  “Also grabbed some crackers and jerky,” He took a packet out of the pocket on the side of his right pant leg and held it up.  “Should be good for later, when we can’t find anything else that’s edible.” 

Jim examined the rope.  It was pretty thin and light, but strong enough to hold whatever they might need it for.  He was glad that Leonard had done well with the edible plants station, and they’d both been all right with traps.  “The Careers will probably start hunting once they’re done with everyone who didn’t get the hell out of there, so we should figure out how we want to set up.”

 ---         

Spock made his way into the forest that appeared to surround the edge of the arena.  The trees were familiar, Earth-type trees, but that did not mean the arena was on Earth.  He stopped moving when he heard the sound of someone else’s movement.  He stood still for three point six minutes, his hand on his sword’s hilt as he glanced around the tree branches above.  Finally a girl dropped from one of the trees and landed several feet away.  Nyota Uhura wore a red pullover, and her hair was pulled away from her face in a high ponytail.  A curved blade attached to a brace was strapped to her right arm, and a small pouch around her waist. 

 “You knew I was there,” she said, her voice and face almost calm enough to impress him.  “No wonder you got a twelve.” 

“My hearing has nothing to do with my training score,” Spock informed her.  He could not remain here, talking to this girl.  He had killed her district mate, possibly her friend.  He had killed another person.  Training had not prepared him for that.  Spock was fighting to keep himself under control, to not fall into either rage or despair.  They both stood still, looking at each other.  “You are not afraid.” 

Nyota smiled slightly.  “I figure if you were going to kill me, you would have done it already.  Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”  She shifted, as though she might run if he did. 

Cannons boomed, and they both paused, automatically counting them.  Eight cannons, which meant the battle at the Cornucopia was over.  Bodies would be beamed out of the arena and eventually sent home to their districts.    

When the distraction ended Spock shifted his own stance, and Nyota took a step back, as he suspected she might.  He remembered Sybok’s words.  He remembered the surprise on Gregory’s face.  He shook his head.  “I will not kill you.”  He squashed the fleeting thought that her death would put him one step closer to going home.  He would incapacitate her if she attacked, but he would not willingly end more lives.    

Nyota’s smile became more hopeful.  “I know you didn’t want to join up with the other Careers, but maybe-”

“No,” Spock said immediately, cutting her off.  “I killed the boy from your district.” Her smile fell and her arm dropped.  “I will not ally with you or anyone else,” Spock said.  “You should find a hiding place further away, if you expect to survive the night.”  He ran past her into the forest without waiting for her response, and didn’t pause for the next cannon. 

\---

Jim and Leonard walked along the edges of the forest until they reached a spot behind the peak of a hill, definitely out of view of the Cornucopia and harder to get to for anyone who might come after them.  A tenth cannon went off while they were moving.  They foraged for a while and came up with enough edible berries from a clump of bushes before the sun started to set.  They cut part of the rope and set a few traps before they settled closer to the trees, ready to move again if they had to. They had just finished eating when the sound of trumpets announced the projection of the day’s dead.  Both boys went still, their eyes on the screen the clear dome of the arena had become. 

The first picture was of the girl from District Three.  “Charlene Masters,” Leonard said softly.  He kept naming tributes as their faces appeared, which was just as well since there were no names beneath the images, just district numbers.  “Arlene Galway, Tina Lawton, Robert Tomlinson, Andrea Smith, John Watkins, Christine Chapel…”  His voice wavered at the sight of his district mate. 

“Janice Rand,” Jim said for the next image.  It sucked that she’d been right.  Leonard looked at him, and Jim wondered if he’d said that out loud.  They were both silent for Gregory M’Benga and Martha Landon.  “That’s ten.  Fourteen left,” Jim said unnecessarily.  Only District Seven was completely out of the running, but they’d won last year.  That happened a lot, the tributes whose district had won the previous Games getting killed off right away.  Not to the Careers so much, but to the others.  Like it was their fault.  Jim exhaled.  Five of those who were left were definitely out for blood.  “Do you think they’ll hunt for more through the night?” He didn’t have to say who he was talking about.  

“If they want to, but they’ve got the compound too.  They might just sleep while they can.”  Leonard paused.  “Wouldn’t surprise me if Spock started hunting tonight, though.” 

Jim shook his head and swallowed, summoning up an image of Spock’s face to fill his mind instead of imagining how all the kids just shown had died.  A vivid imagination was a curse sometimes.  “I don’t think he would.  He wasn’t killing anyone at the Cornucopia.” 

“You ate one lunch with the guy, Jim.  That doesn’t make you an expert.  Besides, you couldn’t see everything.” 

“I know him better than you do,” Jim insisted.  Leonard just rolled his eyes, and Jim huffed a little.  “Do you want first or second shift for keeping watch?”

Leonard hesitated, and Jim didn’t blame them.  Obviously one of them had to stay awake, in case of attack, but he didn’t think he could sleep any time soon either.  “Where should we even sleep?” he said after a moment.

“Probably not out in the open with nothing but a couple of bushes to hide you, like a pair of idiots,” a female voice said, and both boys tensed.  Jim had the knives at his wrists out in an instant, but Leonard only had the rope, and they both cursed under their breath.  The girl’s voice laughed, and dropped from one of the trees behind them.  It was Nyota, in a red pullover with what looked like a small scythe attached to her arm.  Awesome.  “The trees provide a lot more cover,” she explained, looking them both up and down.  “You,” and she pointed at Jim with the arm that had the blade on it, naturally, “are going to have some trouble at night, in that shirt.  Leonard and I will be all right.” 

“Oh, so you’re not going to kill us?  Because I kind of get the feeling you could try,” Jim pointed out.  Leonard glared at Jim, probably for being so flippant about it, but Jim kept his eyes on Nyota. 

She laughed again.  “Not yet, no.  There’s nothing in the rules that says the Careers are the only ones who can form packs, and I lost Greg back at the Cornucopia.”  She paused, her expression tightening before she swallowed and continued.  “You two got decent scores and already formed a mutual no-kill pact.”  She moved a little closer, and Jim couldn’t help but be reminded of a video of a panther he’d seen once in school.  “I figure sticking with you for now will help more than it’ll hurt.” 

Jim glanced at Leonard for just a second, not willing to take his eyes off Nyota for more than a second.  She’d have to get in closer to attack them, unless she had more weapons hidden somewhere.  “What do you think, Bones?” 

Leonard crossed his arms, because Leonard clearly had balls of steel.  “I think she has a point about your shirt.” 

“You know what, fuck you, Bones.”

“Sorry, not interested.” 

Nyota didn’t look impressed.  “I’m starting to regret talking to you two.” 

Jim grinned.  “Hey, you don’t like it, you’ve got a blade.  Hell, you’ve got two feet.  No one said you had to stay.”  He paused.  “You could if you wanted, though.”  He kind of wanted to see what else she had on her, and she was still gorgeous.  Those were terrible reasons, and Leonard was glaring again like he knew what Jim was thinking.    

Nyota kind of looked like she did too.  So far Nyota was also pretty badass, with a score equal to Jim’s, and that was a much better reason to want her to stay.  “Only because you two are my best options, at the moment,” she said.  “But don’t think I’ll hesitate if you’re the only ones left standing in the way of me going home.” 

Jim very nearly told her that feeling was mutual, even though it wasn’t quite.  He didn’t think she was any more comfortable with the thought of actually doing it than he was.  She just… kind of looked like she’d give it a good go.  Jim sheathed his knives.  “That’s one more person for the watch rotation, then.  So, Nyota – can I call you Nyota?  Where would you recommend we sleep?” 

Leonard snorted, and Nyota smiled.  “You can call me Uhura, Kirk,” she said pointedly.  “And there are a few caves up there.”  She pointed at the rocky hill.  “There are enough of them that the Careers won’t be able to scope them all out any time soon.” 

Jim grinned.  “Then by all means, lead the way, Uhura.” 

\---

\---

Leonard took the first shift, Jim the second, and Nyota the third.  The cave they’d settled in wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to fit the three of them comfortably, with some extra space for their stuff (which now included Nyota’s tiny flashlight that would have been a lot cooler if they had any idea how long the battery was going to last).  The boom of a cannon woke both Leonard and Jim before dawn, and after that there wasn’t much point in trying to go back to sleep.  No one’s throat had been slit in the middle of the night, so their temporary trust in each other was pretty much cemented. 

Jim was still stretching while Nyota strapped her weapon to her arm again, and Leonard leaned out of the cave entrance.  “It’s cloudy out there,” the other boy said, and Jim and Nyota both paused. 

Nyota frowned.  “I didn’t think this was the kind of place where it rained often.” 

Leonard shrugged and ducked back inside.  “The Gamemakers can do anything they want, right?  Won’t know until the sun rises if they’re that kind of cloud anyway.” 

Nyota finished securing her weapon.  “I think we should gather some food, maybe practice with the weapons for a while, and find a different cave for tonight.” 

Jim and Leonard exchanged a look.  “Who made you the leader?” Jim asked. 

“No one,” Nyota retorted.  “You got any better ideas?”

Jim started pulling on his boots.  “As a matter of fact, yeah.  As long as the Careers have all the stuff from the Cornucopia, they have all the advantages.  So the way I see it, we need to figure out a way to take their advantage away.” 

“So you have a way to, I don’t know, blow up the compound by the Cornucopia or something?” Nyota scoffed. 

Jim shook his head and stood up.  “Not yet, but I’ve done a little experimenting with homemade explosives.  It’s just a matter of time.”  He wished the phaser banks used for the very beginning of the Games were on the ground or something, because he probably could have hotwired those into being useful.  But he’d manage. 

“Like everything else,” Leonard drawled.  He was still looking outside, where the sky had lightened a little in the past few minutes.  A slow rumble sounded.  “Looks like storm clouds after all.” 

They finished gathering their things and unzipped the hoods on their pullovers so they could put them on if they needed to.  The more they could get done outside before the rain started, the better off they’d be once it did.      

\---

The second cannon of the day was almost drowned out by the sound of more thunder, but Spock wouldn’t have needed the cannon to know about the death.  He witnessed it.  He had had no interest in sleeping that night.  Instead, Spock had climbed high into a tree at the edge of a clearing and meditated through the night.  Meditation had been a part of his training since he was a child, before he’d ever picked up a weapon of any kind.  None of his weapons masters’ other students had learned meditation, but Amanda had insisted, and his later teachers had complimented him on his ability to focus.  He needed to focus his mind after what had happened. 

Those who trained in District Four were not taught only to maim and injure.  Though it was not fully put into practice during training, they were supposedly taught to kill.  Spock could say with confidence that he had been taught methods of killing.  He had not been taught how to deal with the knowledge that he had done so.  It took a full night of meditating for Spock to calm down completely.  For the rest of the Games, he would not shed blood unless absolutely necessary.  He would not attack to kill.  He would not be responsible for the loss of more life.  He could not save lives, not here, but he would not take them. 

He had been preparing to climb down from the tree, his possessions secured in the backpack and at his belt, when the sound of someone moving below made him pause.  After a minute or so, a girl passed under his tree.  She was hard to identify from overhead, but it didn’t matter when an arrow went through her thigh.  The girl shrieked and fell to the ground.  The next arrow went over her head. 

“You suck at that, Anne, give it to Dom!” a male voice complained, louder than necessary in the current setting to Spock’s sensitive ears.  The girl on the ground struggled to break the first arrow’s shaft for a moment.  Just as she appeared to give up and tried to stand, a third arrow shot straight into her chest.  The sound of it going into her flesh almost made Spock flinch.  He had seen death before, watching the previous Games and at the Cornucopia, both peripherally and...  He took a slow, nearly silent breath.  This was the first time he had witnessed cold-blooded, intentional murder.  A large, well-muscled boy that Spock recognized as Dominic Giotto of District Two emerged into the clearing, moving quickly – though not so quietly that Spock hadn’t heard him before he saw him.  He yanked the arrows out of the girl’s body and was picking up the third from where it had fallen when there was the strange hum of a transporter beam.  The body vanished, and the cannon boomed. 

Four more people emerged into the clearing, Thalassa among them.  The entire group had tied their pullovers around their waists.  Each carried at least one weapon, if not more.  Spock shrank back further into the branches.  The tributes on the ground clearly had no regrets about causing the girl’s death or the deaths of those at the Cornucopia. 

“Is there anyone else here?” Marlena asked, sauntering up to Dominic.  Andrew, Thalassa, and Anne looked around.  Spock held himself still and barely breathed. 

Dominic shook his head.  “Nah, they would have reacted when we shot the girl.”  He put the arrows he’d gathered into the quiver Anne held and then took it from her to swing over his own shoulder.  “C’mon, I still want to see if we can find that Kirk kid before it rains.” 

Marlena smirked as the group started to move on.  “I want to play with his pretty friend.” 

Spock remained in position long after the five had gone.  His horror at having taken a life made sense.  What he felt at the idea of Jim Kirk being killed did not.  He would need to meditate more.  A drop of rain fell on his nose.  He frowned slightly.  Perhaps he would need to relocate first. 

\---

The rain started falling in the afternoon, while Jim was teaching Leonard and Nyota to throw the lasso he’d fashioned out of the remaining rope.  Who knew that messing with the neighbor’s cows as a kid would come in handy some day?  After checking yesterday’s traps (all still in place and empty) and getting a breakfast of berries (as well as keeping some for later) they had taken turns with each other’s weapons, because there was no telling who would last longest.  They were half-drenched and had just picked a new cave to hole up in when a package held aloft by a silver parachute landed on Jim’s head.  It was followed by two more, though neither of the other two tributes were hit by them.  They took the containers inside before opening them, and they turned out to hold bread, meat, and cheese.  So the three of them had sandwiches (not sharing would have been a dick move that none of them could justify) in their cozy cave while their pullovers dried and the rain poured down outside.  

“What will you do, if you win?” Nyota asked, after they were done eating and had just sat in semi-comfortable silence for a while.  Jim and Leonard glanced at each other, but Nyota was looking at Jim, so…

“My dad went back to District Ten and pretended his life was normal,” Jim said after a moment.  “He got married, had two kids, and then died so he didn’t get to watch them go through the reapings year after year, waiting until one of them had their named called.” Or to watch both of them end up in the Games, as it had turned out.  “So… not that.” 

Nyota tilted her head.  “You won’t get married?”

Jim shrugged.  “Won’t have kids, if I do.  I don’t know.  There were people I liked back home, but…” He ran a hand through his hair, which had gone flat after the rain.  “I kind of expected to have more time.”  It was the first time he’d admitted to anyone that after Sam had volunteered, Jim hadn’t really thought his name would be called again in the reaping.   

“My girlfriend is pregnant,” Leonard said suddenly.  The other two turned to look at him, surprised.  “She told me right after the reaping, before I got on the train to the Capitol,” he continued. 

“That’s…” Nyota looked almost disgusted.  “Why would she tell you _then_?” 

Leonard let out a huff of a laugh.  “Jocelyn’s like that.  I love her anyway, and if I go back, I’m going to marry her and be there for that kid.”  His eyes took on a dreamy quality, as he looked at the wall past Jim’s head and his usually gruff voice softened.  “Watch him or her grow up, do all the dad stuff.  Diapers and bottles and learning to walk.  First day of school.  Being scared shitless from age twelve to eighteen.”

Jim wondered, idly, if the Capitol was airing this conversation.  He didn’t doubt they had cameras in most of the habitable caves.  Maybe the other tributes were getting up to something more interesting than the three of them just sitting around talking, but after the confession Leonard just made, he doubted it.  People went wild for drama like that, and were most likely going make way more of what Leonard had waiting for him – should he win – than Leonard was. 

“What about you?” he asked Nyota, to pull himself out of his analysis of the Capitol’s interest and the Gamemakers’ methods. 

Nyota looked at her hands.  The black nail polish her stylist apparently thought she’d needed was peeling, and she picked at it a little more.  “Get my family set up in the Victor’s Village,” she said.  “My grandmother took care of me and my sisters when we were younger, so I’ll finally be able to take care of her.” She sighed.  “After that, I don’t know.  There were only a few boys in my district who could keep up with me, and one of them is dead now.  I’d rather do something more productive, anyway.” 

Jim didn’t really know how to respond to that, and he guessed Leonard didn’t either.   

\--- 

The rain continued into the night, stopping only long enough to show the day’s dead.  A few clouds even shifted out of the way so the images (Kevin Riley of District Five and Carolyn Palamas of District Eight) were visible.  As soon as the trumpets ended for the second time the rain started up again.  It kept going through the third day, but this time there weren’t any silver parachutes with extra food to sustain them. 

“They’re going to get bored,” Leonard said on the third afternoon as he idly tied knots in the length of rope.  Nyota, examining her nearly-gone-at-this-point nail color, and Jim, contemplating different methods of creating explosives, looked at him.  Leonard started to undo the knot he’d just created.  “The longer we just sit around in this cave, the more the audience is going to itch for a really good death.” 

“Two people died yesterday,” Nyota pointed out.  “We’ve at least got until tomorrow until they get too anxious.” 

Jim nodded.  “They won’t expect anything too major after the bloodbath, and as long as the rain stops eventually…”  Once the rain stopped, they were all that much closer to dying.  As long as it continued, they survived. “Of course, for all we know one of the Career’s sponsors is going to send them rain gear or something.” 

The other two stared at him.  “Why would you even say that?” 

There were no deaths announced that night. 

\---

\---

The fourth day dawned without a cloud in the sky, making Jim’s comment about rain gear a moot point.  The three in the cave were ready to go before the sun was fully up, and Jim had an agenda. 

“What makes you think there are even going to be sulfur deposits, Jim?” Leonard asked.  “For all you know, we could be wandering around out here looking all day and not find a damn thing.” 

Jim grinned.  “Well, we won’t have been sitting in the cave for another day, will we?”   

“Ugh, I think I found some,” Nyota said from a few feet away.  Jim and Leonard both went over to where she was, and Jim’s grin widened at the sight of the yellow rock. 

“You were saying, Bones?”

“Go fuck yourself, Jim.”

 There was a cannon about halfway through the day, and that night the boy from District Three (Montgomery Scott, thank you, Bones) was the only face in the sky.  The only reason Jim saw that was because he’d had to give up their search for other useful minerals when the sun went down.  There wasn’t any food sent to them that night, but Leonard had gathered enough stuff after Nyota found the sulfur that they weren’t starving.  Still hungry, sure.  But that was normal to them. 

\---

\---          

There was a parachute in the morning (it hit Leonard in the head this time, and pissed him off) but it didn’t contain breakfast.  They opened it together, so the three of them looked at the white substance inside a jar for a moment, staring at the label on the lid. 

“Potassium nitrate,” Nyota says finally, because they’re all old enough to have taken basic chemistry in high school and smart enough to have committed how to read chemical formulas to memory.    

The sulfur and charcoal (which they hadn’t made yet but would soon) were useless without the potassium nitrate, so conveniently sitting in the container attached to the silver parachute, and Jim couldn’t help but laugh.  So Chris had convinced enough sponsors that they wanted him to blow up the compound?  He’d have to give the audience what they wanted, in that case.  Never mind that Leonard was looking exasperated and Nyota seemed to just be realizing how determined Jim was.  They were the ones who wanted to team up with him. 

Mixing the ingredients would have been a lot harder if Jim had never done it before (and they had been harder to get back in District Ten, even for just a little experiment), but as it was he had more stuff to work with and no measuring system this time.  It took a few tries before he got the mixture to do what he wanted.  Nyota and Leonard tried to occupy themselves while Jim worked, but he knew they got bored and were glad when he was finally satisfied. 

“Congratulations, Jim,” Leonard said as the pile of black powder in front of Jim burned down.  “You made a fire starter.  Now what are you going to do with it?” 

That was a little bit of a problem.  Ideally he needed some kind of container for the stuff, since it was technically gunpowder and not dynamite, and he hated to sacrifice their water bottle for this cause, since the goal was to destroy the Careers’ extra supplies.  Projectiles were easy enough; they could just grab a bunch of rocks.  “I’m still working on that.”

“I think we should scout out their camp,” Nyota said, casually strapping her weapon to her arm.  “We’ve got time before the sun sets.”  The boys looked at her, and she rolled her eyes.  “We’ve been sitting up here for days, there’s no telling what they’ve done in that time.  We should at least see what we’re facing.” 

Jim took a deep breath.  He probably needed to get away from the stuff he’d been working on for a while anyway, and Nyota had a point.  “Yeah, okay.” 

Leonard stood up and stretched.  “I hear running for your life is good exercise.  Guess we’ll find out.” 

There were no signs of life as they approached the compound, but they all knew that didn’t mean much.  “Keep an eye out,” Jim said unnecessarily, and both of his companions shot him a dirty look.  “Wow, okay, I can’t really take that from both of you.” 

They all stopped for a second, and then they burst out laughing.  It was just all so _insane_.  It was in the midst of his giggle fit that Jim noticed a metallic glint on the ground a few feet ahead, and that stopped the near-hysteria in its tracks.  “What is that?”  He frowned and moved closer. 

The metal was actually one of the phasers from the start of the Games, dug up out of the ground.  There were a few other spots between where Jim was standing and the compound that looked kind of like they’d been dug up as well, but why was this just abandoned?  Jim reached down to pick it up, aware of Nyota and Leonard joining him but way more concerned with tech he’d never gotten to see up close before, let alone handle.  That was when he heard the soft, high-pitched whine coming from the contraption in his hands.  He’d only heard the sound once before, when one of the guards (who had only been in the district for a week) back home overloaded his phaser rifle.  The resulting explosion had taken out the guard and two of the three humans he’d been threatening – the third had died in the hospital later, from extensive injuries.  Jim sucked in a breath as the memory came back to him.  There was only one tribute that had been around long enough to have done this, since anyone earlier would have required the thing to have blown up already. 

“Looks like Montgomery Scott was a smarter motherfucker than anyone gave him credit for,” Jim breathed.  “This thing is gonna blow any minute.” 

“Then why the hell are you still holding it?” Leonard hissed back.  “Get rid of it, dumbass!” 

“I will,” Jim said, his gaze distant as his plan formed in his head.  “You two should run like hell, though.  Preferably right now.”  He was glad they didn’t question him (he was basically holding a bomb, who questions they guy holding a bomb, except Leonard kind of looked like he wanted to) and headed back the way they had come, while Jim started forward, continuing towards the compound.  He had only taken a few steps before he was jogging, and he wasn’t sure if the whine from the phaser was getting louder or not but he eventually broke out into a run until he was close enough to toss the phaser up onto the compound roof.  It landed with a thunk, and a voice from somewhere inside asked “What was that?” 

Jim took that as his cue to run, going in the first direction he found where there wasn’t a dug-up spot on the ground.  The phasers around the compound started to go just as he hit the treeline, and Jim turned around to watch the quarter-circle of explosions before the building itself exploded in a noisy mess of concrete and smoke with more than a smidge of satisfaction. 

\---

Spock was brought out of his days-long meditation not by his own will or the sounds of other tributes nearby, as he had expected, but an explosion.  His position in a tree was high enough that he could see the resulting mushroom cloud, but little else.  He had no way of knowing whether the explosion had been caused by a tribute or an action of the Gamemakers.  The former would be impressive, the latter somewhat worrisome.  He shifted, stretching stiff limbs in a way that did not jeopardize his position and taking in the changes in his surroundings.  The weather was warmer than it had been at the beginning of the Games.  He had climbed this particular tree to meditate when the rain had ceased, so he could only assume the temperature had risen during that time.  He gathered his belongings and climbed down before continuing to move to restore circulation to his legs in particular. 

A twig cracked several feet to his right, and the accompanying curse was soft enough that Spock could not make out the words.  It did, however, confirm a human rather than animal culprit.  Spock’s hand went automatically to the hilt of his sword, and he hated himself for it.  It seemed years of physical training would win out over personal morals.  Spock waited, breathing as quietly as he could.  He could hear the other tribute approaching, but the irrational part of his brain wondered if perhaps he did have time to climb back up into the tree.  Finally Jim Kirk came into view, and the boy from District Ten visibly recoiled at the sight of the boy from District Four. 

“Jesus, Spock,” Jim said as soon as he recognized the other.  “Make some noise next time or something, fuck.”  Never mind that Jim had been the one tromping through the forest and Spock had apparently just been standing there.  Jim ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and tried to will his heartbeat to return to a normal rate. 

Spock tilted his head ever so slightly, the only hint of confusion he would show.  “You are not afraid of me.”  Nyota had, despite her request of an alliance, still been cautious in his presence. 

Jim rolled his eyes, and that confused Spock further.  “Should I be?” 

Spock’s mouth stayed in a straight line, but Jim could have sworn that something in his eyes almost suggested a smile, and that was… well.  Fascinating.  “As there are seven other tributes remaining besides ourselves, your death is not a priority.  So at the moment… no.” He doubted that would change even with the numbers, though he could not explain that feeling.  There was no logic or reason to it. 

Jim grinned.  “Good.”  He shifted, the adrenaline from what he’d just done still flowing and making it hard for him to stand too still.  “So, what brings you out of hiding?”  Stupid question with an obvious answer, but he wanted to see what Spock would say. 

“The explosion,” Spock replied dryly.  “I take it you had something to do with that?” Jim looked too pleased with himself at the suggestion to have merely observed the event. 

“Something, yeah.” Jim’s grin was bordering on a smirk and he knew it, but… He’d succeeded in blowing up the Career’s base camp, even if it hadn’t originally been his plan to do it that way.  And Chris’s time and the sponsors’ money was sort of wasted, if he ended up not using the gunpowder now.  Shit, all the stuff was still back at the cave…

“You should go.” Spock’s voice interrupted his thoughts.  “Your… allies… will be looking for you.” 

Jim blinked and refocused on Spock.  The taller boy straightened, only then realizing he hadn’t taken his hand off his weapon.  He removed it now, keeping eye contact with Jim.  The other boy snickered, for some inexplicable reason.  “See you around, Spock.” 

Spock did not tell Jim that he was looking forward to it.  Instead he nodded, and as Jim walked away he debated the merits of resuming meditation.  Once he could no longer hear Jim’s footsteps, Spock decided sustenance was more of a priority. 

\---

Finding Leonard and Nyota was a lot easier said than done, but Jim was determined, as per usual.  He didn’t make it out of the forest before sunset, and he had to stop to sleep in a bush before he started back towards the hills, cursing the direction he’d run in more than anything else.  He took his pullover off only an hour (he figured it was about an hour, anyway; there wasn’t exactly an accurate way to tell time in the arena) into his morning trek, and the sun was almost directly overhead by the time he finally reached their trio’s favored hill.  That was when he heard a cannon, and he started to search a little more frantically.  The greeting he got when he finally found them wasn’t exactly a pleasant one.  

“Where the fuck have you been, Jim?” Leonard snapped.  Jim had no idea what had happened, but the other two teenagers had only made it to a cave pretty close to the ground, not the one where they’d left half their stuff.  Leonard wasn’t wearing his pullover, since it was wrapped around Nyota and stained with blood.  He knelt close to her, feeling the guilt already. 

“Trying to find you guys,” he said.  It was true, at least.  “What happened?”

“Anne Nored, District Two, and her glaive,” Leonard replied with a glare.  “She’s dead now.”  What he didn’t say, but Jim could guess from the blood and how pale she looked and her labored breathing, was that Nyota wasn’t far behind.  Leonard looked like he had more of her blood on him than anything else, and even though he was pissed at Jim he was still looking Jim over to make sure he was okay.  That kind of hurt.   

“One of you better win.” Nyota spoke up suddenly, and both boys looked at her.  “I don’t care if Leonard kills you right now for that to happen,” she said to Jim.  “Bastard.”  There was no heat in her words, and she reached out for him.  Jim held out his hand, not expecting the strength of her grip.  “Get me outside,” she forced out.  “I don’t want to die here in the dark.” 

It wouldn’t really take both of them to carry her, since Leonard had obviously brought her to the cave, but neither boy wanted the other to have to do it alone.  Jim was already feeling guilty as hell about that – if he’d just been there… but that was stupid.  So they each got on one side and carried Nyota out of the cave.  The clouds from a few days ago were completely gone now, and the sun beat down on the hot, dry ground.  Nyota closed her eyes, and Jim had a brief moment of panicked fear before he realized she was still breathing – struggling to do it, but she hadn’t stopped yet. 

“This is more like home,” she said.  “Not as humid, though.” 

Then she was gone.  The only sound for a second was Jim and Leonard’s breathing, and it was such a weird time for Jim to realize he hadn’t seen or heard any birds in the past… six days?  He wasn’t sure.  He pulled Leonard to his feet, away from Nyota’s body, just in time for the transporter beam to take that away from them too. 

Leonard yanked his hand away from Jim and started back towards the cave.

“What are you doing?” Jim couldn’t help but ask, following the other boy.  He hadn’t expected to find them like this, hadn’t wanted to watch either of them die.  At the same time he would have hated himself more if he’d found Leonard alone, later. 

“I’m getting her weapon,” was the half-growled reply.  “She told me to use it, before you got there.” 

Jim wasn’t going to argue with that. 

\---

They returned to their first cave long enough to gather up the few things they’d left in it, and then they found a different one to wait out the night.  They didn’t talk until after the announcement of the dead – and that was the last time they’d see Nyota’s face. 

“I’m sorry, Bones.”

“Stop wallowing, Jim,” Leonard replied sharply.  “It’s the fucking Hunger Games.  People die.  Yeah, she shouldn’t have died so soon, but the whole point of this damned competition is that only one of us comes out.  She’d be pissed if neither of us won, though I’ve got half a mind to just kill you right now and put you out of your goddamned misery.”

“I’d let you,” Jim said quietly.  He still thought he should have been there, that if there had been three people facing the Career girl maybe there would still be three of them sitting together now. 

Leonard snorted.  “Good reason not to do it, then.  You’re an idiot.” There was affection in that last sentence, and Jim understood that Leonard had forgiven him for not being there, even if he hadn’t forgiven himself yet. 

“Love you too, Bones.” He shifted so he could lay down, and Leonard did the same. 

“Go the fuck to sleep, Jim.” 

\---

\---

Checking out the damage to the Career camp the next morning seemed like the best plan of action.  It would help to know that the Careers had to fend for themselves the same way the remaining tributes did, and it would be even better if the Careers had lost weapons.  None of them had lost their lives, since Nyota and Anne had been the only ones displayed the previous night.  Leonard didn’t want to talk about it, so Jim could only guess how he and Nyota had run into Anne in the first place.  Instead they chattered about inane things on their way back there, especially as they passed near the place where Nyota had died. 

Jim whistled when they reached the ruin that had been a perfectly decent concrete structure just a couple of days ago.  “This is so much better than what I was gonna do.” 

Leonard rolled his eyes and kicked aside some object burnt beyond recognition.  “No argument there.”  He and Jim separated just a little, checking out different sections of broken wall when Jim heard Leonard swear, and he whirled around long enough see Leonard fighting off the blonde from District Four before he was grabbed from behind and a knife was held just against his throat. 

“You should have been quieter,” a female voice purred in his ear.  It had to be the girl from Two, Marlena, because she and the one Leonard was fighting (and losing to, shit shit shit) were the only ones left.  “Now you get to watch him die, and then I’m going to kill you.”  Jim would have wished her luck with that, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“I would rethink that position,” a much more familiar voice said from behind Marlena, and Jim just wanted people to stop fucking sneaking up on him, even when they were saving his ass for whatever reason.  He couldn’t think of a good reason for Spock to be saving him, though he was definitely grateful.  To show it, he slid one of his knives from its wrist holster and sliced under the girl’s arm as he pushed the knife away.  Marlena just smirked, and Jim turned to look at Spock just in time to see an arrow graze his arm.  Spock snarled and both boys looked to see where the arrow had come from, but Jim stopped sooner to focus on Marlena, who was staring at Spock.  “Retreat!” she shouted, and it was echoed by two other voices, both male (and fuck not knowing where those two were hiding).  Thalassa didn’t join in, though, because she was bleeding from the neck and falling to the ground.  Leonard fell a second later, and Jim was a lot more concerned with that than Marlena getting away or whatever had made her stare at Spock the way she had.  He ran to Leonard, untying his pullover from around his waist (it had ended up there that morning, because Leonard didn’t have one anymore and it was too hot to wear it anyway).  “No, no, no,” Jim muttered under his breath, hauling the other boy into as much of a sitting position and trying not to look too hard at the injuries, especially the gaping hole in Leonard’s stomach.  He wanted to say something, anything, but didn’t even know where to start. 

“Breathe, Jim,” Leonard said, and that about broke him. 

They didn’t talk about how Leonard had torn open Thalassa Mitchell’s throat with Nyota’s weapon (distantly Jim thought he heard a cannon for her, but that wasn’t important), and they didn’t talk about the fact that Jim’s pullover was basically holding Leonard’s abdomen closed.  They didn’t talk about how Spock was standing nearby, watching, because Jim wasn’t thinking about it.  Jim prayed for some kind of medical supplies to be sent by either of their sponsors, but at the same time he knew there wouldn’t be any.  Leonard was too far gone to get something for himself, and none of Jim’s sponsors (assuming he still had any) were going to send something to save another tribute just because Jim didn’t want to lose a friend. 

So instead of talking about how Leonard’s lifespan was probably best measured in minutes, Jim blurted out “We are friends, right?” 

Leonard just gave him the same look he did that first day of training, when Jim sat at his table.  “Of course we’re friends, dumbass.  You just made shit worse and I followed you anyway, didn’t I?”  At the look on Jim’s face, he shook his head.  “Don’t take it like that, kid.” 

“You’re only a year older than me, Bones.” 

“I’m the one dying; I say what I want.” 

“It’s just so stupid, Bones,” Jim said after a moment.  “I mean, you and Nyota were the ones with the big plans for after you won.  There are people waiting for me back in District Ten, yeah, but they could live without me.  It’s not like it would be the first time.”  That wasn’t the plan, hadn’t been the plan, but it was true. 

“They’re not gonna have to,” Leonard said firmly.  “Nyota said one of us better win.  Looks like it’s gonna be you.”  Now Jim glanced towards Spock, who hadn’t moved since the arrow.  Spock made no motion to disagree, and Jim turned back towards Leonard. 

“I don’t want you to go, Bones.” 

“I know, Jim.” 

They sat together for what felt like way too long, and at the same time not long enough, before Leonard’s breathing finally slowed and stopped.  Spock stayed where he was the entire time, and Spock was the one who not only pulled Jim to his feet but away from the bloodied ground and to a less exposed section of the ruins.  Then Spock had to follow him outside as Jim ran to throw up what little he had in his stomach, and Spock held him as he sobbed into the other boy’s chest.  Jim had never cried like that, even when he was younger, and he had only known Leonard for a little more than a week, but it wasn’t just Leonard.  It was Nyota, and Janice, and Sam and his father and everyone that Jim had lost but never really cried over.  It was wasted lives and just hating the point the Capitol was trying to make.  Spock held him awkwardly, like he wasn’t used to it, and it took a while for Jim to remember that Spock had been hurt too, though mildly.  He lifted his head a little (but didn’t look at Spock’s face yet) and frowned.   Something about Spock looked off, and Jim didn’t know why it took him so long to realize what it was: Spock was bleeding green.  Not red, like a human, but green, like a Capitol citizen.  Like a Vulcan, actually; Romulan blood was a little more yellow-green.  And Jim had no idea what to do with that information. 

“How are you Vulcan?” he asked.  Spock tensed, but Jim rattled on, finally looking up into the other boy’s eyes.  “Do you have any bandages?  That’s gonna get infected if we don’t do anything, and I bet your immune system is weird.” 

Spock didn’t have an answer for that.  He was still processing the other boy’s words.  _Vulcan_.  It had occurred to him, but he hadn’t let himself wonder for too long. 

\---

“My mother told me it was a blood disorder,” Spock admitted as Jim bandaged his arm, using the supplies Spock hadn’t needed until now.  “I suppose, in a way, she was correct.  I knew from the expression my trainers wore whenever I bled that it was something more.” 

Jim wondered how hard that had hit Spock when he was younger, realizing that he wasn’t like other kids.  Being aware that other kids didn’t bleed green, didn’t get whatever looks Spock got.  He finished securing the bandage he was working on.  Would Spock’s sponsors withdraw their support, now that they knew he was a half-blood?  There had never been one in the Games before, but the most other people ever heard about half-bloods was that they were abominations, and that usually when one was dead.  That was probably just the tip of the iceberg of what was going on in Spock’s head right now – had probably been going on in Spock’s head for years, as far as Jim knew.  Jim bit his lip, then reached out to touch Spock’s cheek and turn the other boy’s face toward him.  “Hey.” 

Spock was trying to hold himself together and keep his emotions locked even further away than usual, but the moment Jim touched his face, that effort broke down.  Spock’s entire life had been spent training and learning.  He had never expected to end it anywhere but in an arena.  He had not expected to learn – confirm – he was not fully human.  He certainly hadn’t expected Jim, or the feeling of comfort being projected just through their minimal contact.  He put his hand over Jim’s, and the feeling increased.  Vulcans were touch-telepaths, Spock recalled, but he had never tried to feel more from another person through contact. 

Jim couldn’t say that things would be okay.  The odds were really, really good that they were both going to die here in the arena, or worse, that one of them would survive it.  Now that Spock’s heritage was sort of revealed, the odds of the Gamemakers allowing him to leave the arena alive were a lot lower than they’d started out as.  Unless the Careers were out there hacking whoever was left to pieces – and Jim felt a little stab of unpleasantness at that thought – the cameras were pretty much guaranteed to be on Jim and Spock right now.  Jim closed the distance between him and Spock, pressing their lips together.  He didn’t do it for the cameras, because he didn’t think kissing Spock was going to make anyone outside the arena happy.  He did it for himself, and for Spock. 

Not that Spock had any idea of what to do.  Instinct had him kissing Jim back, but when they separated to breathe, Spock moved back further than necessary.  He had never kissed anyone before.  Sexuality, romance and love were not a topic often discussed in the Grayson household – in fact, Spock could not think of a single occasion.  They had both known he would grow up to participate in the Games.  If he won, such things could be dealt with later.  If he lost, it wouldn’t have mattered.  It mattered now, and he had not yet won or lost. 

“Sorry,” Jim said automatically.  He thought he had scared Spock off now, and he hadn’t actually planned on kissing Spock when this whole conversation started.  He hadn’t planned on kissing Spock at all.  It hadn’t been a bad kiss, or at least he hadn’t thought so until Spock pulled away.  “I shouldn’t have-”

Spock shook his head, a sharp enough jerk that that cut Jim off before his words did.  “Do not apologize.  There is nothing to apologize for.” 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t have known each other without meeting here,” Jim said, because Jim was a dick like that.  Plus it was true; unless you ended up in the Hunger Games or joined the Peacekeepers, people pretty much lived and died in the district they were born in.  If Jim’s name hadn’t been called a second time in the reaping, he and Spock would never have met. 

\---

They didn’t kiss again, but they slept next to each other that night – not in the ruins, but a little ways away where they could still see if anyone approached.  Jim had done that before, with friends when they were small children and a few times with Gary and once with Carol as teenagers.  The tangle of limbs felt significantly more intimate with Spock, and Jim pretended to still be asleep while Spock held his hand and played with his fingers as the sun came up.  They couldn’t hold on to whatever was happening between them, and they both knew it. 

So they took their time as much as they could.  Neither of them wanted to seek out the remaining tributes – there were three Careers left, and the boys from Districts Six and Twelve, though neither Jim nor Spock had seen either of them since the first day.  Instead they sought food, and talked about themselves.  Jim found himself almost forgetting about the cameras, almost telling Spock about all the crazy things he’d done that would have gotten him in trouble.  Spock spoke of his mother, and his training.  There was little else to tell, he thought, but Jim coaxed more out of him than Spock had realized was there. 

“Favorite color?” Jim asked, just before catching a berry Spock tossed toward him with his mouth. 

“Irrelevant.”

“Okay, no, Spock.  Just because you’re a Vulcan now doesn’t mean you can dismiss everything as ‘irrelevant’.  You were human for seventeen years; what’s your favorite color?” 

“Blue,” Spock replied, looking Jim directly in the eye.  It would have been easy to suppress the slight upward curling of his lips as Jim’s cheeks turned pinker, but Spock chose not to.  His own smile brought out Jim’s, and Spock liked that.  “What about yours?” 

Jim swallowed the berry in his mouth and pretended to think about it for a moment.  Spock was suddenly more interested in the movement of the other boy’s throat than the answer to his question, and that was… unusual.  Jim tilted his head, noticing the more intense staring. 

“What?  Is there something on my face?” 

“Not yet,” Spock replied, before closing the gap between them and kissing Jim gently.  It was different from their first kiss, which Jim had initiated, but only somewhat less spontaneous.  It lasted longer, and Spock did not retreat when they parted.  He wished to learn every aspect of Jim with his fingertips, but had no way of articulating that. 

“I can’t believe you actually said that,” Jim breathed, not wanting to move any further from Spock than Spock wanted to move away from Jim – so they were just holding each other close; it was all good.  “That was the corniest line I’ve ever heard.” 

Spock nuzzling Jim’s cheek was hardly the response Jim was looking for (not to mention kind of weird), but it definitely worked.  Particularly when Spock followed it up by ducking his head lower and kissing Jim’s neck. 

\---

\---

The Careers found them the next day.  It was late in the afternoon, and Jim and Spock had been wandering around for a while, pausing every so often to kiss… or make out.  Whatever.  That was over when they were discovered, or maybe the three had been watching and waiting.  Jim and Spock would never know, since an arrow striking a tree way too close to their heads for Jim’s liking had the two of them pushing apart.  Jim drew the knife he’d concealed in his boot – he’d left three of them where they were at all times, and the fact that that had seemed to turn Spock on (kinky bastard) had turned Jim on too.  Now wasn’t the time to think about that, as Spock scrambled to get his sword – unlike Jim, he’d had to take the belt its sheath attached to off, and hadn’t put it back on yet.  Maybe that was why they were being attacked, and Jim barely had time to watch Andrew Stiles of District One barrel out of the trees and towards Spock before Marlena was tackling him to the ground.  She was strong, only a few inches shorter than he was and much better trained, but Jim had more knives.  They rolled, both only keeping the upper hand for a few seconds as Jim tried to fight her off and watch what was happening with Spock.  Dominic – at least, he assumed it was Dominic – was still staying out of range, but kept firing arrows close to whatever position Spock took.  Andrew had a sword too, but he didn’t seem to be as good with it as Spock was.  Marlena was pushing Jim away from Spock, and he didn’t understand it until Andrew ducked back and Dominic moved just forward enough to toss a spear into the waiting hand of the District One tribute.  Spock dodged the sword slash that followed, and moved right into the path of Andrew’s second weapon. 

The spear went into Spock’s side, and Jim barely recognized the scream of the other boy’s name as coming out of his own mouth, but it did.  He slashed wildly with his first knife and shoved Marlena off him, dropping the second into his hand without a thought before he ran to Spock.  He couldn’t get there before the other boy fell, but that didn’t stop him from pulling Spock into his arms.  He didn’t care that Marlena and Dominic were leaving, that Andrew was already wheezing on the ground with a knife in his throat that Jim didn’t remember throwing.  The only thing that mattered was the boy in Jim’s arms, the boy who was still and pale and covered in green blood.

“It’s okay, Spock,” Jim whispered.  “You’re gonna be okay.”  People had survived wounds like Spock’s before, in the Games.  A voice in the back of his head pointed out that those people weren’t Vulcan, that Vulcans had different anatomy and Spock hadn’t moved since Jim got there, but he told that voice to kindly shut the fuck up.  Spock’s eyes were still open, but they were blank, no expression behind them at all.  A cannon boomed, and he looked automatically to where Andrew lay on the ground a few feet away.  But it was Spock who shimmered and vanished first.  The second cannon, long minutes later, was for Andrew.  Jim didn’t move.  Dominic and Marlena could have come back to kill him, and he wouldn’t have cared.  He wasn’t ready to lose Spock.  He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, and he didn’t have any fucking choice.  Spock was already gone. 

Jim spent that night curled up in upon himself, covered in bruises and green blood.  He didn’t even look up when the dead tributes were shown.  He had been so stupid, trying to let himself have someone he couldn’t keep.  The last person he’d cared about more than other people had gone the same way, after all.  Fucking Hunger Games.  Fucking Capitol.  Jim was done.  At first light he was going to get up, take Spock’s sword, and find the Careers.  Jim was done, and this was going to end. 

\---

\---

Dominic and Marlena were at the ruins of the compound, but they weren’t even hiding.  They were waiting for Jim to show up, and he was okay with that.  He’d recovered the knife he’d used to kill Andrew and sheathed it once more.  Spock’s sword was at his waist, more symbolic than anything else because fuck if Jim would be any good with it.  But he had the knives, Dominic had fewer arrows than he’d had the day before (Jim knew because he’d pulled them out of the trees himself, once the sun rose, and snapped them in half).  Marlena had pulled the same ‘grab and threaten with knife’ move twice now, but Jim wasn’t going to bank on her doing it again when the odds were against him, not them. 

That was why Jim ended up against the Cornucopia, Dominic’s entire left arm holding him there by the neck.  Marlena was smirking behind him, and Jim tried to get his arms to work instead of just flailing.  The lack of oxygen was getting to him, and for just a second he was glad he’d be joining Spock instead of going home.  That was when they heard the screams coming from the forest.  Dominic released Jim in surprise, and the smaller boy took the opportunity to duck just out of reach.  A curly-haired boy came running out of the woods, still screaming, and nearly ten seconds later another boy followed him.  Much closer behind was what Jim could only describe as an enormous lizard, walking on two legs and catching up to the second boy.  No, not just catching up; it _mowed him down_ and kept going. 

The eyes of those watching widened.  “Alliance?” Dominic said, not even looking at Jim but earning a dirty look from Marlena. 

“Fuck you,” Jim replied as the first boy – Pavel Chekov from District Twelve, and Jim was amazed the kid was still alive – spotted the three of them and shouted for them to run.  Since the lizard was still coming, none of them had to be told twice.  Pavel was dashing past the Cornucopia when the upright lizard stopped, right about where the line of remaining buried phasers would be.  Jim stopped too, nearly to the site of the first of the exploded phasers.  Another lizard had materialized there.  They had to be creations of the Gamemakers, since the four now inside the circle were the last of the tributes.  He heard Dominic and Marlena stop short behind him, and then Pavel’s harsh breathing. 

“We can get out if there are only two,” Dominic said. 

“There were more chasing me and H-hikaru,” Pavel told them.  Dominic swore, and Marlena put a hand on his shoulder. 

“So what do we do?” she asked. 

It took Jim a minute to realize she was talking to him, and he stared at her incredulously.  “Don’t ask me.  You keep trying to kill me, they’re probably going to try to kill us if we leave the circle… The only one I’m cool with right now is Pavel.” 

The twelve-year-old at least had the decency to look utterly confused. 

\---

Dominic decided to test their new perimeter by firing his remaining arrows at the lizards.  After the first one caught the arrow in his mouth and broke into pieces, Jim didn’t really need to watch any more.  Instead he went looking for the gunpowder he’d dropped and abandoned the day Bones had died – he hadn’t needed it when he was with Spock, but it might be useful now.  Pavel tagged along with him, a silent shadow.  He found the gunpowder easily enough, and then started looking for something to use as a shaft for a really, really makeshift cannon.  Pavel helped by holding onto pieces of rubble Jim deemed good enough for ammo.  They had to stop when night fell, and Jim just plopped down where they were.  Without being able to leave the area, the only threat he had to worry about were Dominic and Marlena.  As long as he didn’t sleep, they’d probably be okay.  He and Pavel were better armed, what with Jim’s knives and all of the rocks they’d gathered.  Pavel curled up next to Jim, and they watched the image of the single dead tribute of the day together. 

Pavel started making a sniffling sound, and Jim put his arm around the boy.  He’d already failed to protect the other people he liked in the arena; it was just a matter of time with Pavel.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. 

“They killed Hikaru,” Pavel sobbed, and all Jim could do was hold the twelve-year-old close, because Pavel was just too fucking young to have to deal with this shit.  Hell, _Jim_ was too fucking young to deal with giant lizards that walked upright and wanted them dead.  He could imagine the others’ reactions to the Gamemakers’ latest creation.  Leonard probably would have cursed, like Jim did.  Nyota would have been ready to fight, and would have been absolutely as beautiful as she was badass while she did it.  Spock… thinking of Spock made Jim’s chest hurt.  Spock would have raised an eyebrow, maybe, and fought along with the rest of them.  They would have all fought the lizards together.  That Jim knew for sure.  The rest… well, it was kind of hard to be totally sure of the actions of people one didn’t even know for two weeks. 

The lizards started making some god-awful noises, and Jim almost smiled at Marlena screaming for them to shut up from wherever she and Dominic had settled for the night. 

\---

\---

Jim woke with a start, realizing with dismay that the sky was starting to get lighter.  Pavel was still beside him and still breathing, but Jim still hadn’t meant to fall asleep. 

Pavel stirred and started to wake up, muttering in a language Jim didn’t know.  So Jim ignored that part.  “Rise and shine, Mr. Chekov,” he said, already standing up to stretch.  “We have work to do.” 

Bamboo wasn’t really the sort of thing Jim had been after, but by midday it was obvious it was the only option they were going to have.  Pavel helped him find the other things they needed, this time considerably chattier than he had been the day before. 

“There were sponsors, at the beginning,” he explained.  “Not for me, but for Hikaru.  We shared the food anyway.” 

Jim was forcibly reminded of sharing food with Leonard and Nyota.  He kept working, and Pavel kept talking, although he seemed to have noticed the change in Jim’s mood. 

“We stayed in the woods, and I think we came close to the other tributes a few times, but there was never a fight.  Hikaru would have won if there had been,” he said, his voice going quieter.  “He was very good with a sword; he told me that was how he impressed the Gamemakers.”  Pavel sat back from the knot he’d just tied.  “The only reason I’m still here is because I can run fast.” 

Jim bit back the comment that the only reason he was still around was because other people kept dying. 

 Finally, they had a (hopefully) working cannon. 

Marlena had wandered away from Dominic’s attempts to get past the line to watch them, and she looked skeptical.  “Do you really think that’s going to work?  There are four of those lizards out there.  If it blows apart on the first one, what will you do?”

Jim shrugged, testing the flint Pavel had given him.  “We only need to get past one of them, don’t we?  Then there’s a lot more space to work with.” 

She seemed to approve, though he wasn’t interested in what she thought. 

\---

Everything went wrong. 

Jim and Pavel got the cannon set up, the lizard they were aiming at watching just as intently as Marlena and Dominic (who she’d presumably told about Jim’s half-assed plan).  The cannon did fire, and it did kill the lizard.  It also exploded enough to knock Jim and Pavel both to the ground with debris, making it easy for Marlena and Dominic to get a head start out of the circle.  None of them had counted on the other lizards coming around to where the dead one was.  They swarmed (there had only been four, they were sure of that but suddenly there were more of them) as all four of the remaining tributes reached the line, and Jim just barely managed to pull Pavel back before he tripped, trying to move backwards too quickly.  Then things went black. 

Jim woke to a headache and Pavel looking at him.  He blinked and then groaned before trying to sit up.  “What happened?” 

Pavel launched himself at Jim, and the older boy automatically shifted to comfort the younger one.  “I thought you were going to die,” Pavel said, his voice just a little too quiet for Jim’s still-ringing ears. 

Jim tried to smile, for the kid’s sake.  “Nope, still here.  Are the lizards still…?”  He looked around, but there was no sign of them – or of the other two tributes. 

Pavel shook his head. “No, they tore apart the other two but they’re gone now.”  He was starting to shake a little, and Jim started to stroke his hair to calm him down. 

Jim would have relaxed, except that he and Pavel were probably still trapped, and worse, they were the last two left.  And he knew, he didn’t have to ask, that Pavel couldn’t kill him, and Jim wouldn’t kill Pavel.  Either the lizards would have to come back, or… Jim realized the hand that was stroking Pavel’s curly hair felt wet.  He lifted his hand to check, and the wet stuff was red.  “Pavel…”

The boy looked up at Jim and smiled, actually fucking smiled, and Jim was pretty sure he could feel his heart cracking.  “I wasn’t sure you’d notice,” he said softly.  “I am glad you did, though.”

It sucked.  It was Jim’s fault and it sucked so, so much that the whole thing came down to Jim just letting a twelve year old boy die in his arms.  If he’d had Pavel stand back from the cannon instead of letting him be right next to it, things might have ended differently.  Jim still could take his last knife out and draw it down his own throat.  Done in the right spot he would go faster than Pavel, and the kid would become the youngest victor in the entire history of the Hunger Games.  But what kind of life would there be for Pavel then?  At the mercy of the Capitol.  Mentoring future tributes.  Robbed of childhood either way, but it was the difference between the light going out of Pavel’s eyes now and the innocence going out of them later.  It still wasn’t Jim’s choice to make. 

“Pavel,” he breathed.  “Pavel, do you want to go home?”

“I want to go with Hikaru, I think,” Pavel said slowly, his voice too breathless and whispery for Jim’s liking.  “He promised we would race, for fun.” 

“Okay,” Jim said.  “Okay, Pavel.  I bet Hikaru’s waiting for you to get to him.”  It wasn’t fair.  None of it was fair, and the Capitol knew it.  They designed it to not be fair. 

Pavel went still, and the last cannon was fired. 

“ _Congratulations to James Kirk, victor of the ninety-eighth Hunger Games_.”   

 

Lightyears away from the arena, Spock woke up. 

\---

\---

The last thing he remembered was pain, and Jim.  He was no longer in the arena.  He was on what appeared to be a biobed, though the few in the doctor’s office in District Four were considerably older and less advanced than this one.  The room was white, but not blindingly so. 

“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” said a voice to his right, and Spock turned his head to see Sybok lounging in a chair next to the biobed.  He would have sat up, but his body felt too heavy to do so just yet.  “You did hear that story at least once, right?” Sybok kept going.  “I mean, it’s a human story and older than dirt, so I figured Amanda would have…  Okay, either that blank look means you have no idea what I’m talking about or you’re more concerned with where you are.” 

Spock blinked slowly.  “The latter.”  

Sybok sighed and ran a hand through his hair, less neat than the last time Spock had seen him.  “This ship is called the _Zhal_ ,” he explained.  “It’s Vulcan and… pretty much serves as whatever we need it to be, so right now it’s more or less a space hospital.  Everyone on board who isn’t a patient is a member of the resistance.” He smiled ruefully.  “Not that you have any idea what the resistance is either.  Okay.”  He shifted to a less casual sitting position.  “Long story short, not all the Vulcans are too pleased with the way stuff in the unified Empire is being run, especially with the whole Hunger Games thing on Earth.  There still aren’t enough of us to really overthrow the regime, but the biggest thing we’ve been doing is pulling most of the tributes out of the arena each year before they actually die and saving their lives.  We pretty much had to start a secret colony of humans for them, since they can’t go back to Earth.” 

“Is that where you plan to take me?”

“That’s the tricky thing, actually.  I know Amanda never outright told you, but we all saw that stuff with you and the Kirk kid, so… you’re half Vulcan, like you probably figured.  This one Gamemaker, Nero, found out and since he became Head Gamemaker this year, you were his primary target.  If another tribute hadn’t taken you down, he would have had something in the arena do it.  And after you started bleeding on live TV, your mother…” 

Spock felt a sharp pain in his side, in the area he’d been stabbed.  The bed began to beep frantically.  Sybok had the good grace to stand up.  “Yeah, that story’s going to have to wait.” 

“Tell me,” Spock hissed, willing the pain to stop.  He had felt worse than this.

“You were stabbed in the heart and are still recovering, Spock,” Sarek said from the doorway of the room.  “Be still.”  Both Spock and Sybok obeyed the order.  It was out of an instinctive response to certain authoritative figures on Spock’s part.  Sarek turned to his son.  “Leave us,” he said, and that order was also obeyed. 

Spock focused on steadying his breathing, and the beeping of the biobed ceased. 

Sarek watched him for a moment, still near the doorway.  “Your control is impressive, Spock.  Many Vulcans of your age would have struggled against the adversities you’ve faced.” 

“Anyone would struggle against the things I’ve faced,” Spock replied almost instantly, hearing Jim’s voice saying the words in his head as they came out of his mouth. 

Sarek simply nodded and moved closer to the bed.  “A valid point.”  He seemed to hesitate before speaking again.  “You wished to hear about your mother.” 

“Yes,” Spock said.  “Tell me what happened after… after it was made clear that I am not human.” 

“Your mother was taken into custody,” Sarek said carefully.  “She refused to disclose the identity of your father, and I was unable to negotiate her release.” 

“It was you,” Spock said as the realization came to him.  “It is you.  You are my father.” 

Sarek met his son’s eyes.  “I am your father, and I could not save your mother.  _Ni’droi’ik nar-tor._ ” 

This time Spock did not feel the pain, but he did welcome the darkness. 

\---

It was several more days before he was allowed to leave his room.  Sarek began teaching him about aspects of Vulcan physiology Spock had not been aware of before, including an extremely awkward explanation of _pon farr_ that was prefaced with the low odds of Spock even experiencing it. 

Sybok was also a frequent visitor, and he often arrived with gifts of books to expand Spock’s Vulcan vocabulary and cultural knowledge.  Neither of them could stay for long periods of time, as they still had lives in the Capitol on Earth.  Spock devoted his free time entirely to his studies, but the lack of news was… frustrating. 

On his third day awake, Spock was allowed to leave the bio-bed for a short period of time.  On the fifth, he left the room for a brief walk, accompanied by Sybok.  Later that day he went to observe on his own.  He was unable and did not desire to entire other patient’s rooms, but after turning down a few hallways he discovered what appeared to be an open lounge.  It was empty, leading Spock to wonder what the ship-board time was.  He had just sat down when another male entered the room, immediately stopping just inside the door. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.” 

The newcomer’s face was enough like Jim’s to make Spock stare.  “You are Sam Kirk,” he said after a moment.  Sam had featured in Jim’s stories of his childhood, but Spock had not thought to ask Sarek or Sybok if Sam was on the human colony.  He received a grin in response to the identification.  That was like Jim too. 

“Yeah, I’m Sam.  You’re Spock, right?  Were you looking for one of the others from your Games?  The last couple of kids aren’t awake yet, but I could see…”

No one had been willing to speak of the Games with Spock until now, beyond Sybok’s brief mentions.  “Is your brother here?” he asked.  There was no reason not to get straight to the point. 

Sam stopped smiling.  “They didn’t tell you?”

“My… family did not wish to discuss the Games,” Spock replied.  He was still getting used to referring to Sybok and Sarek as his relatives rather than members of the District Four representation team.  The loss of Amanda was far too fresh a wound to dwell on. 

The older Kirk brother looked sad.   “Jim won.” 

He didn’t have to explain any further.  Winning the Games would trap Jim between the Capitol and his district.  The resistance might be capable of removing tributes from the arena and saving their lives.  They might have several Vulcans placed in influential positions throughout the governments on Earth, as well as a few involved in the Games.  They could not remove the latest victor from the spotlight, and they could not allow a boy who was supposed to be dead to go to him.  Jim’s position would become far too public for any such chance. 

\---

Spock could only assume that Sam had told Sybok about their conversation, and he in turn had told their father.  Spock could barely fathom that events had been arranged as they were. 

“You will have one minute,” Sarek said softly.  They were still in the transporter room of the _Zhal_ ; there was no need to lower his tone yet.  It seemed appropriate nonetheless.  Spock nodded.  Sixty seconds were not enough, but the resistance could only control the surveillance system of the Games training center – particularly Jim’s room – for that long.  They had more control over other places in the Capitol and even in the districts, according to Sybok, but buildings directly related to the government, including those used for the Games, required more caution. 

Sam Kirk was manning the transporter controls.  It was strange to Spock that he would volunteer to do so, aware that he was sending someone else to see his brother when he could not.  Though upon consideration, Spock thought he might make the same choice.   The set of Sam’s mouth was familiar, though the sensation Spock felt at the thought that in just moments he would see Jim again was not.  He had meditated for the first time since his time in the arena the previous night, after Sam led him back to his room; his control was not what it once was.  He would have to be doubly careful, given all he was learning about Vulcan physiology and biology that he had not known before.  He took his place on the transporter pad and nodded to Sam to indicate that he was ready. 

He’d only been conscious using a transporter once before, going into the arena.  The experience was no different physically, though the emotions he sought to control were. 

Jim’s room was quiet.  Spock’s sensitive ears could pick out the sound of Jim’s breathing, but not the barely present hum of the biobed he lay on.  Spock had materialized a few steps away from the bed.  Spock wondered if that had somehow been intentional before dismissing the idea.  Jim was laying flat on his back, with his head turned slightly to the side.  Towards Spock, in fact, though that was obviously a coincidence.  There were forty-eight seconds left when Spock closed the distance between them.  He stood next to the bed, taking in Jim’s appearance.  Sybok had, against Sarek’s wishes, given him a summary of the events of the Games after his ‘death’.  The injuries Jim had acquired during that time were either faded to pale scars or gone completely, thanks to the technology available in the Capitol.  Spock’s own injuries were gone as well, but for the scar on his abdomen that he had chosen to keep.  Jim was breathing, but not moving otherwise.  Spock took that as an indication that his sleep was not entirely natural; Jim had not been so still when they slept beside each other. 

 Twenty-nine seconds remained when Spock reached for Jim’s hand – knowing as he did so that he would not be able to touch Jim for a long time after this, if ever again.  On instinct, his other hand went to Jim’s forehead.  This was all he would have.  Some part of him proverbially shouted a denial, and there was a jolt as Spock’s right hand briefly tightened around Jim’s.  Something in the back of Spock’s mind, something that had been there since the night he and Jim kissed, opened further, and Spock yanked both hands back even as Jim’s fingers tightened around one.  Jim’s eyelids were fluttering, and Spock wanted to touch him again.  There was no time.  He could already feel the pull of the transporter summoning him back to the _Zhal_. 

Jim opened his eyes, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was.  There was a fading buzzing at the back of his mind, but he lay still until he no longer felt it. 

\---

On the _Zhal_ ’s transporter pad, Spock reached out for the wall to steady himself.  Sarek had only begun to teach him about mind melds.  He had felt the urge to initiate one, but had had no intention of giving into it.  He did not know what had happened.  He could feel a tightness in his head that had not been present before, a pull that wished nothing more than to go back to where he had came from. 

_Come back, Spock._

He was pulled out of his thoughts by his father’s voice.  Spock lifted his head to see the others in the transporter room staring at him.  Sam and Sybok were both visibly concerned, and even Sarek, who had approached and melded with his younger son, looked mildly disconcerted. 

“Spock, what have you done?” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In no particular order: 
> 
> 1\. I chose to warn for major character death despite the fact that most of the tributes survive largely because the deaths are depicted as such, and at the end one of the main characters still believes the others are dead. 
> 
> 2\. There will be a sequel. 
> 
> 3\. I know Mythbusters tested and disproved the possibility of the cannon used against the Gorn, but I wanted to use it anyway. 
> 
> 4\. The Vulcan phrases come from both the VLD website and the [Vulcan Language tumblr](http://vulcanlanguage.tumblr.com). I am by no means skilled in that language and have relied entirely on their translations. (The only phrase not translated in-text, from Sarek to Spock, is an apology.)
> 
> 5\. Thank you for reading!


End file.
